#the shots into the dark to keep the rent low

[kingofbodyrolls]

To Catch a Merman (m) | pjm

You don’t really enjoy your work on a trawler, but it pays the rent. When you hear some ruckus out of the deck, you go out to investigate, only to be met by an unreal sight: a blonde merman with a sparkly golden tail caught in the net, struggling to get free.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: mermaid!au, fantasy!au, magical!au → Trope: strangers to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / romance / tiny angst → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 17.7k → Warnings (general) + triggers: multiple povs (I tried to keep them apart, but there’s some sections where they mix), a shitty ex (not Jimin or one of the tannies), blackmail (because of said stupid ex), low female rage (it’s very minor, but let me just say that reader can defend herself if need be 🤭). → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (please be safe), multiple orgasms, cockwarming, fingering, oral (male receiving), biting/marking, merfolk intercourse (it’s like a mating dance, lol), dirty talk. → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: I’m baaaaack 🥳 I really love how this one turned out and I hope you love it as much as I do! And now there’s only two more mermaid stories left 🥹 This has truly been special, and i’m so glad I stuck with it and didn’t abandon it like I feared at one moment… Anyway, any kind of feedback will be very much appreciated—it fuels my inspiration, you know? Like just one single comment or reblog can make my heart soar, make me smile and feel like ‘yeah, someone on the internet likes my writing and stories as much as I do’ and it truly helps me to keep going, especially at times where I second guess myself (happens rather often I’m afraid). Please let me know okay? And happy reading ✨ 

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a collection of series that are stand-alone one-shots, but all of them are set in the same universe. They are slightly connected though 🤭

“Don’t you think we’ve gone too far out?” Jungkook’s voice wavers, uncertainty woven into each syllable. His dark eyes dart toward the fading silhouette of home, but Jimin doesn’t pause, doesn’t even glance back. His golden tail gleams like sunlight trapped in the sea, cutting through the azure depths with an effortless sway.

“Nah, don’t be such a guppy!” Jimin laughs, his voice buoyant with adventure, rippling through the water as he propels himself faster. Each stroke carries him farther into the unknown, where the current whispers secrets only the bold dare to uncover.

Jungkook lingers, his chest tight with unease. “I really don’t think this is a good idea,” he calls, the words almost swallowed by the vastness. “We’re so far from home…”

Jimin suddenly halts mid-stroke, his brown eyes narrowing. Above them, a shadow looms, dark and colossal, breaking the soft shimmer of sunlight on the waves. The water feels heavier now, the salty tang sharper. 

“What is it?” Jungkook asks, dread curling in his gut.

“It’s a big boat,” Jimin murmurs, the words bubbling to the surface as if reluctant to leave his lips. His curiosity pulls him forward, closer to the shadow that stretches like a specter above them.

“Yeah, and we should stay away,” Jungkook snaps, his hand darting out to grab Jimin’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.” 

But Jimin shrugs him off, slipping through his grip like quicksilver. His golden tail fans wide, propelling him onward, closer to the unknown.

“Just a little closer!” Jimin calls, his voice light, but his gaze locked on the shadow overhead.

“Jimin!” Jungkook shouts, the name tumbling from his mouth like a plea. He spins in the water, struggling against the tide—and his rising anger. His voice cuts through the deep with raw emotion. “You’re going to get us killed!”

But Jimin only laughs again, a sound like the tinkling of glass against the endless blue, as the shadow above deepens, and the world below seems to hold its breath.

“It’s okay!” Jimin calls, his voice barely rising above the whispering waves. He hovers just beneath the surface, closer to danger than Jungkook would ever allow if he had his way. But Jimin’s curiosity burns brighter than his caution. The lure of the unknown pulls at him like a tide. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifts his head above the water, the ocean’s surface breaking around him in ripples of light.

His breath catches. The boat looms above him—a hulking beast of wood and iron, its hull painted in hues of brown and white, weathered by years of salt and sun. Massive cranes stretch skyward like skeletal arms, and heavy nets drape across its deck, glinting faintly under the midday sun. It is not beautiful, but it is powerful, a thing of human hands and ambition, utterly foreign to the delicate harmony of the sea.

Jungkook materializes silently at Jimin’s side, his presence a sudden ripple in the water that startles the older merman. Jimin glances at him, guilt flickering briefly in his wide eyes before giving way to fascination again. 

“Jimin,” Jungkook hisses, his voice sharp, his gaze sharper still, like an anchor seeking to tether him. “Turn back.”

But Jimin doesn’t move. His voice trembles, not with fear but with awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” His eyes dart to the figures moving along the deck, their shadows shifting like specters against the glare of sunlight. “There are people up there.”

“Hide!” Jungkook snaps, grabbing Jimin’s arm and pulling him sharply downward. The sea envelops them both again, cool and heavy, muffling the world above. “That’s a trawler,” Jungkook says, his voice low and urgent, every word a warning. “They catch fish, Jimin. You shouldn’t go near it.”

Jimin nods absently, his head bobbing like seaweed caught in the current, but his thoughts are far away, drifting beyond Jungkook’s grasp. The boat has hooked his curiosity like a lure, and no amount of scolding can break its hold.

Jungkook sighs, frustration etching lines into his usually calm expression. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around Jimin’s tail and tugging him backward with a determined kick of his fins. Jimin lets out a half-hearted protest but doesn’t fight him, his gaze lingering on the shadow of the boat until it fades into the distance.

As they swim back to Naraeum, Jungkook glances over his shoulder, his unease like a weight dragging him down. The ocean feels too still, too silent, as if even it is holding its breath. Beside him, Jimin smiles faintly, his mind adrift in a sea of wonder. 

Days have passed, yet Jimin cannot shake the image of the trawler from his mind. The boat lingers in his thoughts like a siren’s call—an enigma draped in nets and cranes. He remembers the humans, their shadows etched against the light, and wonders what it would feel like to stand among them, to know the world above the waves. His curiosity churns like the tide, restless and unyielding.

Which is why, against better judgment, his whimsical heart leads him back to where he last saw it. Alone, this time. Jungkook’s warnings echo faintly in his memory, but he brushes them aside like grains of sand. Jungkook doesn’t understand—how could he? To Jimin, the pull of discovery is stronger than fear.

The sun is high, its warmth seeping through the water’s surface as he breaks through the shimmering line between ocean and air. The trawler looms in the distance, its silhouette stark against the azure sky. No voices, no footsteps. The deck looks empty, silent. Safe. 

Jimin swims closer, his golden tail cutting through the waves with an eager flick. He dips beneath the surface again, the water cool against his skin as he circles to the far side of the vessel. His heart flutters with anticipation, the world narrowing to this single moment, this single mystery.

But as he moves to rise once more, something catches. A sudden, taut pressure coils around him—a net, rough and unyielding, tangling his tail and pinning his arms to his sides. Panic flares. He thrashes, but the more he struggles, the tighter the net pulls. The world tips and tilts as he’s dragged upward, the ocean slipping away below him, the sun blinding above.

When he finally breaks the surface, it is not in freedom but captivity. He is hoisted into the air, suspended with a writhing chaos of silver-scaled fish. Their bodies slap and squirm against him, cold and frantic. Jimin grunts, his pride stinging almost as much as his skin. Of course, he thinks bitterly. Of course I’d get caught. He’s the kind of merman who can’t even balance on a rock without sliding off. Clumsy to his core. Jungkook had warned him—warned him with exasperation and those sharp, knowing eyes—but he hadn’t listened.

Now, he lies in a heap on the deck, the net a coarse prison pressing against his skin. The trawler’s wood feels foreign beneath him, its surface warm from the sun. For a moment, there is no movement, no sound but the rhythmic creak of the boat and the faint slap of water against its hull.

No humans. Not yet. He exhales shakily, a flicker of relief warming him. Lucky, for now. But luck is fleeting, and the net is unrelenting. He twists and pulls, his tail flicking in frustration, yet the woven threads refuse to yield. 

As he struggles, the vastness of his predicament begins to sink in. The boat, the net, the world of humans looming just beyond the corner of his vision—all of it feels too big, too foreign. Yet, even in the face of danger, a part of him remains defiant, his curiosity undimmed. I’ll get out of this, he thinks. I have to.

But the trawler sways beneath him, a silent giant, and the horizon stretches wide and uncaring. The sun blazes overhead, and the sea he loves feels suddenly, painfully far away.

You hate this job. The endless hours, the stench of fish, the grinding noise of the trawler’s machinery—it all gnaws at your soul. But the money is good, and good money keeps you coming back. Still, as you stretch awake in the middle of the day, the remnants of last night’s shift clinging to you like a haze, you can’t shake the feeling that you’d rather be anywhere else. 

Weird noises from the deck break through your grogginess, jarring and unfamiliar. You yawn, dragging yourself from the cocoon of your cramped bed, the lazy heat of the cabin making every step feel like a chore. Rubbing your eyes, you shuffle to investigate, the bright daylight spilling through the doorway catching you off guard.

The moment you step outside, the world hits you. The sun blazes mercilessly above, its golden rays turning the sea into a blinding mosaic of light. The air hangs heavy, hot and thick, clinging to your skin like a second layer. And then you see him.  

A man—no, an angel—caught in the center of the deck, tangled in the coarse weave of a fishing net. Blonde hair gleams like spun sunlight, cascading over his shoulders. His chest is sculpted, every curve and ridge kissed by the sun, tapering to a tiny waist. Your gaze falters at sturdy thighs, only for your brain to screech to a halt at his dick. Completely naked. Utterly surreal.

His head jerks up, startled brown eyes locking with yours. A loud, high-pitched shriek escapes him, the sound jarring and almost inhuman. He thrashes in the net, his movements frantic as the silver-scaled fish trapped with him flop and slide against his skin. You freeze, your breath caught in your throat, every nerve firing in chaotic confusion.

What the hell is happening? You want to ask something—anything. Maybe ‘do you need help?’ or ‘who are you?’ or even the more pressing ‘how the hell did you get here?’ But your words die on your lips as he suddenly wriggles free of the net. For a moment, he’s all unsteady limbs, rising awkwardly to his feet. Then, like a fleeting mirage, he dashes for the edge of the boat, his movements fluid and oddly graceful despite his wobbling steps.

He pauses just long enough to clap his hands together in a makeshift diving pose. And then he leaps. Quick, but slow enough that you catch a glimpse of a tattoo of moon phases down his spine. 

Time slows as he arcs through the air, a golden blur against the deep blue horizon. The water accepts him in a shimmering burst, and he’s gone. You gape, your voice finally finding freedom in a startled yell. Heart pounding, you rush to the edge of the boat, gripping the sun-warmed railing as you peer over. The ocean is calm, indifferent, save for a few bubbles breaking its surface.  

You scan the water, searching, your eyes desperate to confirm what you just saw—or to convince yourself it was some kind of sun-soaked fever dream. But there’s nothing. The waves ripple serenely, as if mocking your bewilderment. 

No man. No trace. Just the endless expanse of sea, stretching into oblivion.

You stand there, stunned, the net still lying in a crumpled heap behind you, its captured fish glinting in the sunlight. The deck creaks beneath your feet, but the rest of the world seems to hold its breath. Who—or what—was that? And where did he go?  

The sea offers no answers. Only silence.

The whole day, he lingers in your mind like a shadow you can’t shake. The golden-haired man, tangled in the net, his brown eyes wide with fear and confusion. Questions churn in your head, relentless as the tide. Is he okay? Did he make it? Why was he there in the first place? And the one you don’t want to ask but can’t silence—Did he drown after he leapt into the sea?  

He hadn’t said a word, only that strange startled cry when your eyes met. The sound was raw, unguarded, like something wild caught between fight and flight. You replay it over and over, a haunting echo, as you try to piece him together from fragments: golden hair, sun-bronzed skin, a fleeting presence that disappeared as suddenly as it appeared. And those eyes—terrified, searching. You wonder what they saw in you.

A sudden hand at the small of your back drags you out of your thoughts, the warmth unwelcome and invasive. Riley. You shrug him off sharply, your frown a warning, but he doesn’t take the hint.

“What happened out there?” he asks, curiosity lacing his tone. He must have heard the ruckus earlier, but you’re in no mood to indulge him. “Nothing,” you snap, turning away. “And don’t touch me again. Ever.”

His hand retreats, but his presence lingers like a bad smell. Riley—your ex, your mistake. You curse the naïveté that led you to take this job, blind to the fact he’d be working here too. It felt like fate mocking you, trapping you on this swaying tin can with someone you can’t stand. Every day, you question your sanity for staying. But the paycheck binds you like chains, and so you endure.

Riley’s voice follows you, slick with false concern. “I can protect you, if you’re scared.” The words slither through the air, leaving a sickly taste in your mouth. You stiffen, his tone stirring something sharp and defensive in your chest.

You turn, arms crossing tightly over your body, your voice colder than the ocean below. “I don’t need your protection, Riley. I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.” Each word is clipped, deliberate, your disdain evident.

He smirks, like your anger is a game he enjoys playing. It makes your stomach churn, and you glare at him before storming away, needing space, needing air.  

Your thoughts drift again as you retreat to the edge of the boat, eyes scanning the endless sea. The sunlight dances on the waves, golden and playful, as if mocking your mood. But no matter how far you look, there’s no sign of him—the man who consumed your every thought today. Just water stretching endlessly, as inscrutable as it is vast.

A few days later, the quiet of dawn is shattered by a strange, rhythmic banging that echoes against the hull of the boat. The sound pulls you from sleep like a siren’s call, and before you can think, you’re on your feet, racing out in nothing but your pajamas, the early chill biting at your skin. The sky is a delicate canvas of pale pink and gold, the sea beneath it still dark and restless.  

The deck is empty, the vast stretch of wood as silent as the horizon. But the sound persists—low, insistent, coming from the side of the boat. Heart thudding, you approach the railing, peering over cautiously. 

And there he is.  

Your breath hitches. For a moment, all you can do is stare, your mouth falling open as if to match the endless gape of the sea below. Caught in the coarse weave of the net, a merman thrashes against his bindings. Half of his shimmering tail—gold and flecked with iridescent yellows—remains submerged in the water, while his torso, lean and sunlit, glistens with droplets that catch the dawn light like scattered jewels. His blonde hair, unruly and windblown, clings to his face in wild streaks. 

Familiar blonde hair. A face you’ve seen before.  

He struggles, his movements frantic and uncoordinated, the net tangling tighter with every thrash. “Help!” he cries, his voice raw and desperate, carried over the waves to no one in particular. His gaze hasn’t found you yet, but his fear is palpable, written in every line of his body.  

“I can help you!” you call out, your voice breaking through the morning stillness like a splash of cold water. 

He freezes, flinching at the sound. Slowly, as if time itself has slowed, he turns his head. His eyes meet yours, and in an instant, the fight drains from his limbs. Shock overtakes him, his expression teetering between recognition and disbelief. 

For a long moment, neither of you move. The sea murmurs below, the net creaks with the sway of the boat, and still, his gaze holds yours, weighing something unseen, something fragile. 

“Can you help me out of this net?” he asks at last, his voice low, wary, the tension in his shoulders betraying his uncertainty.

You nod, steadying yourself against the railing. “I can,” you reply, your words measured, reassuring. “But I’ll need to raise you onto the deck first. The net—it’s too heavy to untangle in the water.”

His lips press into a thin line, his reluctance plain, but he nods, a flicker of trust crossing his features. The moment feels precarious, like balancing on the edge of a wave.  

“All right,” he murmurs. “Just... be quick.”

You grip the railing tighter, your heart pounding as you prepare to pull him aboard. The world feels charged, like the air before a storm, and the sea watches silently, its secrets just beneath the surface.

You hear him sigh, a soft, defeated sound that seems to blend with the whisper of the waves against the hull. Slowly, he relents, letting you take control. With a steady pull, you drag him and the heavy net out of the water, your muscles straining as the glistening form of the merman rises onto the deck.  

There he lays, sprawled and still, water pooling beneath him as it drips from his sleek, otherworldly form. You step closer, and for the first time, you truly see him. He isn’t just beautiful—he’s ethereal, like something conjured from the dreams of gods. His face is serene yet haunting, framed by unruly blonde locks that cling to his skin, while his shimmering tail catches the sun, reflecting colors that defy description.  

Your breath hitches. It’s him. The man who has haunted your thoughts for days, the one you feared might have been claimed by the sea. Relief floods through you, mingled with awe. He didn’t drown. He didn’t vanish. He’s here—and he’s a merman.  

Shaking off your daze, you kneel beside him, your hands working to untangle the net from his glistening body. Each movement feels surreal, your fingers sliding over the slick scales as you free him inch by inch. When the last knot falls away, you can’t help but linger, your gaze tracing the curve of his tail. It’s a masterpiece of nature, wet and scaly, each iridescent hue shimmering like molten gold under the light. Without thinking, your hand reaches out, brushing against it.  

The texture is mesmerizing—cool, smooth, and alien. But then, just as you’re about to marvel aloud, a flicker of light catches your eye. Tiny sparkles dart around him, a strange, magical shimmer that dances like fireflies in the dawn. You blink, and suddenly, his tail isn’t there anymore.  

Your heart stops. What you’re touching now isn’t a tail—it’s skin. Wet, firm, human skin. Your hand rests high on his thigh, alarmingly close to…  

You jerk back as though scalded, a startled shriek escaping your lips. Heat rises to your cheeks as your mind spirals, but he doesn’t seem fazed. Instead, he curls into himself, folding his arms and drawing his knees up, his entire form radiating vulnerability. His golden hair falls over his face like a curtain, shielding him from your gaze, as if the transformation has stolen some vital part of him.  

Snapping yourself out of it, you scramble to your feet, casting about for something to cover him. A roll of tarp catches your eye, and you grab it, moving swiftly to drape it over his body. His wide, questioning eyes follow your hurried movements, but before you can say anything, footsteps echo from behind.  

“Hide,” you hiss under your breath, pulling the tarp snugly around him. He doesn’t protest, just shifts deeper into the shadows, his presence shrinking to near invisibility.

Riley strides onto the deck, his boots thudding against the wood with deliberate weight. His face is unreadable, but his gaze sweeps the space like a predator searching for prey. “What’s going on out here?” he asks, his tone sharp and suspicious.

“Nothing,” you blurt, your voice an octave too high. You shift your body subtly, blocking Riley’s view of the tarp-covered figure behind you. The air between you crackles with tension as you force yourself to meet his eyes, willing him to believe your lie.  

“Hmm… okay,” Riley says, lingering just long enough to set your teeth on edge. “I heard you scream, so if you need me, just let me know.” His gaze sweeps the boat once more, like he’s searching for the ghost of your secrets.  

You scowl, crossing your arms as a shield. “Fuck off,” you snap, the words sharp as broken glass.  

Finally, he shrugs and turns, his heavy footsteps receding into the distance. The tension eases its grip on your chest, and you let out a shaky breath, relief rushing in like a tide. Only when he’s gone do you feel like you can truly breathe again.  

Turning back, you kneel by the tarp, fingers trembling slightly as you lift its edge. Beneath it, the man—if you can call him that—sits curled in on himself, his golden hair a wild halo around his wary eyes. Those eyes fix on you, wide and mistrusting, their depths dark as uncharted waters.  

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly, your voice gentle as the breeze over calm seas. “I won’t hurt you.”

“But you’re human,” he replies, his voice low, tinged with fear and something unnameable. He shifts back instinctively, his posture guarded, keeping a cautious distance as if you might sprout claws at any moment.

You hesitate, not wanting to push him further into his shell. “Are you hungry?” you ask instead, steering the conversation into safer waters. You don’t press him; instead, you keep still, aware of the fragile balance between his fear and your curiosity.

His stomach answers for him, the loud, unmistakable growl breaking the tension. A blush colors his cheeks, and to your surprise, he giggles—a light, melodic sound that’s startlingly human.  

“Do you have tang?” he asks, his eyes brightening for the briefest moment, curiosity peeking through his fear.  

Tang. The word catches you off guard, but you quickly realize what he means. A smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I think I have some tangy snacks in my room. Hold on.”  

You pause, glancing at his dripping figure, and add, “And I’ll get you some clothes too.”

His gaze softens, just a little, as if he’s starting to believe you might not be a threat after all.  

Rising quickly, you dart into your small cabin, rifling through drawers until you find a bag of snacks that might fit the bill. Then, with a surge of boldness, you sneak into one of your coworker’s rooms. Borrowing—stealing, really—a pair of pants and a shirt, you mutter an apology under your breath. It’ll have to do.  

When you return, he’s still seated where you left him, his form a quiet figure against the chaos of the sea around you. You hand him the clothes, and he takes them with a hesitant nod. Watching him dress is like watching a bird try to walk—awkward, unnatural, his movements jerky and unsure, as though his body resists this strange, human choreography.  

But eventually, the oversized shirt hangs from his shoulders, the borrowed pants bunched awkwardly around his waist. He adjusts the fabric with a distracted frown before shifting his focus to the snacks you’ve brought. The tangy treats vanish quickly, his hands moving with an efficiency born of hunger, though he pauses occasionally to eye the brightly colored packaging like it’s something from another world.  

You hand him a bottle of water, and he gulps it down, his throat working rhythmically, the sound amplified in the stillness between you. Finally, you settle across from him, your knees tucked close as you take him in—not just his appearance, but his presence, the way he seems both fragile and powerful, like something caught between two worlds.  

“What’s your name?” you ask softly, breaking the silence.  

He pauses, lowering the bottle, then meets your gaze. “Jimin,” he says simply, the name rolling off his tongue like a whispered secret.  

You nod, offering him a small, warm smile, hoping it will ease the wariness in his expression. “Hi, Jimin. I’m Y/N.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the ocean filling the space between your words. But curiosity pushes forward, unbidden. “What are you doing here?”  

Jimin chuckles, the sound soft but tinged with frustration as he pops another snack into his mouth. “I just wanted to see the boat again,” he admits, shaking his head. “And I got caught in that stupid net again…” He rolls his eyes, the gesture so human it catches you off guard, deflating with a sigh that seems to sink into the deck beneath him.  

But then his gaze sharpens, flicking around the empty deck as if he senses unseen eyes. “Why are you hushing and hiding me like I’m some sort of secret?” he asks, his voice tinged with curiosity but not without suspicion.  

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. “Do you really want my coworkers to find you? To know that you’re a merman?” you counter, your tone cautious but earnest.  

He considers this for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line before he exhales. “I guess not,” he mutters, the words laced with a resigned wisdom. “Humans aren’t trustworthy.” His tone is matter-of-fact, not cruel, but unyielding, as though he’s learned this lesson too many times before.  

You flinch inwardly at the generalization, but you let it pass. “I’m trustworthy,” you say, your smile growing as you try to project a confidence you’re not sure you feel.  

He tilts his head, his sharp eyes searching yours, and it’s clear he isn’t convinced. The wall of mistrust between you is a thick one, forged not in a moment, but over years, perhaps even centuries, of caution bred into his kind.  

But that’s okay, you think. You didn’t expect trust to come easily.  

“I swear, I mean you no harm,” you add, leaning back slightly, your voice quieter now, as though softer words might slip past his defenses.  

Maybe it’s all the fantasy novels you’ve devoured recently, their tales of impossible creatures and fragile bonds, but a strange determination takes root in your chest: you have to protect him. At least from Riley and the rest of your coworkers. You can already picture the chaos that would erupt if they discovered mermaids were more than just stories. The scandal. The cruelty. No—if nothing else, you owe him safe passage back to his home.  

“Have you ever been out of the ocean before? Or… on land?” you ask, your voice soft, as if you’re afraid to disturb the fragile magic of the moment.  

He shakes his head, though his posture eases, his body less coiled now. “I’ve never been to land before,” he says, his voice carrying a wistful undercurrent. “But plenty of my friends have.”  

As he speaks, his gaze drifts far away, as if caught on a tide only he can see. There’s a dreamy quality to his expression, a flicker of longing that glows like sunlight beneath the waves. “I really want to see land,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with wonder. But then it dips, quiet and heavy, as he fidgets with his hands. “But...”  

Before you can think better of it, the words tumble out of your mouth like a pebble skipping across water. “I can show you, if you want to!”  

He blinks, startled, and his head tilts slightly, those deep eyes locking onto yours. “You would?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if afraid the offer might vanish if he speaks too loudly.  

“Yeah, sure,” you say with a shrug, trying to sound casual. But your smile is warm, gentle, and you hope it will soothe his lingering doubt. “You seem nice. And curious. I can show you my world.”  

Your heart flutters at the absurdity of it all—you, befriending a merman. A mythical creature. The stuff of bedtime stories and legends. If your coworkers knew, they’d call you crazy. But you’d rather be crazy than let this moment slip through your fingers. Your parents always taught you to be kind, and if kindness means helping a creature from the deep see a dream made real, then so be it.  

His honeyed skin flushes faintly, the blush soft as a sunrise, and he murmurs, “Okay.” But then his smile falters, his hands folding together. “But I have to go back home now. My friends… they’ll worry about me if I’m gone too long.”  

The spell breaks as he rises to his feet, and you follow him to the boat’s edge. The sea stretches below, glittering and endless, waiting to welcome him back.  

He turns to you one last time, his golden hair haloed by the sunlight, and then, without a moment’s hesitation, he dives. The splash sends ripples across the surface, but before you can process his departure, the clothes he was wearing resurface, bobbing lazily in the water.  

A second later, his head pops up, grinning. “Oops,” he says, his voice bright with laughter, and he gathers the floating garments, tossing them up to you with surprising precision.  

He waves, and with a flick of his magnificent tail—shimmering like molten gold in the sunlight—he disappears into the depths. For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the water, the echo of his presence lingering like the last note of a song.  

You sigh, shaking your head. Maybe you have been reading too many fantasy novels. But as you fold his clothes, still damp and salty, you know one thing for sure: you’ll see him again.  

Jimin has never truly met a human before. He’s always kept his distance, heeding the Elders’ grim warnings—dark tales of cruelty and greed. Stories of merfolk snared in nets, dragged from the waves to live as captives behind glass walls, their freedom traded for fleeting human fascination. The thought of such confinement has always chilled him. The ocean, vast and endless, is his sanctuary—a realm where he can stretch his fins and feel the infinite embrace of freedom.  

But then he met you.  

You’re not what he expected, not at all. You’re not cruel or cold, not the predator the stories painted. You’re warm, kind, and impossibly gentle—like a rare current that carries him somewhere new. And though his heart whispers caution, he can’t help but lean closer, drawn to your presence like sunlight breaking through the water’s surface.  

There’s something about you that stirs a curiosity he’s long tried to ignore. He’s always been intrigued by the human world, yes—but not enough to chase it. Not like Jungkook, who used to live on land as a child, or Yoongi, with his endless fascination for women, or Hoseok, with his relentless fascination for breaking rules.  

Jimin has always been curious and daring, but only in measured strokes—never quite brave enough to venture beyond the safety of the waves. Until now.  

Now, he finds himself wondering. About you. About the strange life you lead aboard that towering vessel. Are you like the others, here to strip the sea of its bounty? Or is there something more to your story, something deeper? He wonders what your world is like—on land, where the tides are invisible and the air doesn’t shimmer.  

How different it must be from Naraeum, his underwater home, where coral spires rise like cathedrals and the water sings with life.  

And yet, for all his questions, one thought rises above the rest, startling in its clarity: You don’t seem bad at all.  

In fact, he thinks, you might just be good.  

Jimin knows well—thanks to Seokjin’s and Namjoon’s tales—that fish don’t swim on land, and that humans experience intimacy in ways unlike his kind. It fascinates him, though he would never admit it outright. Not that he’s thinking about you like that. No, it’s just curiosity, an innocent hunger to understand the unknown.  

He’s heard Yoongi’s endless stories of wild escapades on land, tales laced with laughter and mischief. They always stir an uproar—especially from Seokjin, whose words crash like waves against Yoongi’s tide, insisting that not all humans are like the ones his friend indulges in, fleeting and shallow. Jimin has always stayed quiet during those heated debates. He isn’t like Yoongi, reckless and bold, and he isn’t like Seokjin, careful and measured. He’s just… himself.  

Truthfully, Jimin doesn’t know what he wants from life, other than the life he already has. For years, he’s floated along, content to be a merman in the vast embrace of the sea. No mate has caught his eye, no grand ambition has stirred his soul. His parents, thankfully, don’t push—they let him be. But sometimes, late at night, he wonders if that’s enough.  

Lately, his thoughts have been restless, swimming further than his fins ever could. What else is out there? What experiences are waiting to be tasted, untried and undiscovered? Perhaps that’s why he’s drawn to you—not just because you freed him, not just because you’re kind. It’s something deeper, something he can’t quite name.  

And yes, you’re beautiful too. Not in the obvious, dazzling way of a siren’s song, but in a quiet, understated way that feels honest and real. He thinks of your smile, the way it tilted the edges of the moment into something softer, and he wonders if he’ll ever see it again.  

As the sun dips low, sending shards of gold skimming the water’s surface, Jimin darts through the waves, leaving the coral towers of Naraeum behind. The ocean stretches endlessly before him, but his destination is clear—your boat. It’s been days since he last saw you, days since you freed him from the trap of that cursed net.  

And yet, he feels it still—a strange pull in his chest, like a current drawing him toward the unknown. Toward you. He doesn’t know why he feels it, doesn’t know what he’s chasing. He only knows that he wants to see you again, to hear your voice ripple through the air like a melody he’s only just learned to love.  

He lifts his head above the water, careful to keep his distance from the boat, his gaze sweeping its silhouette until it lands on you. You’re leaning over the bow, framed by the soft gold of the setting sun. The light dances on your skin, lending it an ethereal shimmer, as though you belong more to the heavens than the earth. But your face tells another story—it’s etched with sorrow, your gaze heavy as it clings to the horizon.  

Something tugs at Jimin’s heart, an ache he can’t quite place. You don’t look like you belong on this boat, amidst the steel and salt and nets. It doesn’t seem to fit you, this life. He wonders, briefly, if you’re trapped in your own kind of net, caught in something you didn’t choose.  

The sun dips lower, casting a burning amber trail across the water, and you remain there, lost in thought. Unable to bear the weight of your sadness, Jimin swims closer, circling around the front of the boat. He keeps his movements light, the water rippling gently around him as he glides into your view.  

When your eyes finally find him, the change is instant. The sorrow lifts from your face like the breaking of a storm, and the softness of your smile is like the first light of dawn. It stirs something deep within him—a warmth that bubbles to the surface like the sea kissed by sunlight.  

He smiles back, instinctively, his heart fluttering in a way he doesn’t quite understand.  

You make your way to the side of the boat, where the nets hang ominously. He notices and keeps his distance, wary of the tangling web that had once ensnared him.  

“Hi, Jimin,” you call, your voice carrying across the water, warm and soothing like a lullaby. You wave, a gesture so simple yet disarming, your smile soft and genuine.  

“Hi!” he replies, his voice tinged with joy, his hand breaking the surface of the water in a wave. He can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face—it feels so natural now that he knows you mean him no harm.  

“Do you want to come onto land with me tomorrow?” you ask, your voice gentle, yet carrying a spark of excitement. There’s a glimmer in your eyes, a kind of light that makes Jimin’s heart skip in a way that feels both thrilling and terrifying.

He nods shyly, the corners of his lips curling into a smile. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice soft but brimming with eagerness. A giddy kind of warmth rises in his chest, the thrill of the unknown pulling him forward even as fear tugs at his edges. The thought of stepping onto land—foreign and solid and utterly unyielding—is daunting. But he figures, with you by his side, the leap might not feel so far.

“Cool,” you say with a grin that makes him feel a little braver. You glance out toward the endless expanse of ocean, the breeze teasing at your hair. “What have you been up to?” you ask, leaning onto the edge again, mirroring the easy way he found you.

Jimin hesitates for just a moment before diving into his thoughts. “Not much,” he says, though the memories bubble up quickly, bright and alive. “Just hanging out with my friends. Taehyung and I found this lake—it’s tucked away, surrounded by these beautiful willow trees, their branches dipping right into the water. It felt... magical.” He smiles as he speaks, the memory playing vividly in his mind like sunlight glinting through leaves. “And then I went with Namjoon to collect gems. He’s so good at finding the rare ones—ruby reds, deep blues... like pieces of the sky trapped underwater.”

He notices the way your face softens as you listen, the way your focus seems entirely on him, and it fills him with a kind of happiness he didn’t know he was searching for. Maybe, just maybe, you’re as curious about his world as he is about yours.

“That sounds amazing! Maybe you could show me that lake sometime... or even introduce me to your friends?” you ask, your voice carrying a playful lilt, but there’s a softness beneath it—a quiet yearning that Jimin can’t quite place. 

“You want to meet my friends?” he giggles, his laughter as light as the waves that lap against the boat. His tail shimmers beneath the surface, wiggling playfully, sending ripples out into the vast blue.

“Yeah,” you reply, a mock pout gracing your lips, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “If that sort of thing is allowed?” 

The sight of your expression tugs a laugh from him, warm and unguarded. It’s the kind of laugh that bubbles up from the depths of his chest, spilling out like sunlight breaking through water. You’re pouting, and it’s just about the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yeah, it’s okay and I’ll ask my friends,” he says, still smiling, though his words carry the weight of quiet rebellion. He doesn’t tell you the whole truth—that the Elders would frown at the idea, their endless warnings about humans ringing in his mind like a distant current. But rules have always felt like suggestions to him and his friends, currents to swim against rather than be swept away by. Besides, you don’t seem like the humans in the stories—how could you be? 

“Thank you,” you say, your smile brightening like the morning sun cresting over the horizon, chasing away shadows. It’s a smile that lingers, and it strikes something in him—a mix of excitement and trepidation, a feeling that maybe showing you his world might not be such a risk after all.

“Do you like working on that boat?” he asks, his voice slipping out before he has a chance to second-guess it. The question has lingered at the back of his mind ever since he first saw you on deck, that distant, wistful look in your eyes that seemed to carry a quiet sadness.

For a moment, your face falters, your gaze slipping away as if the weight of his question pulls something heavy from inside you. A soft sigh escapes your lips, deflated, like the last breath of air from a slowly sinking balloon. “No, not really,” you confess, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He tilts his head, genuinely puzzled, unable to grasp the why. “Then why do it?” he asks, as if the concept of choosing something without passion is entirely foreign to him.

You lower your gaze, shoulders slumping in surrender. A groan slips from your throat, a mixture of frustration and resignation. “I guess I only do it for the money,” you murmur, the words heavy in the quiet space between you. “I know, it sounds super lame... But it pays really well. It pays my rent, keeps me afloat, you know?” You trail off, uncertainty flickering across your features. “I don’t know if you have money and rent down there…”

“We do, so I get it,” he says, his voice soft but steady, an unspoken understanding passing between you. His gaze is warm, like a patch of sunlight breaking through the clouds, reassuring you without judgment. “It still sucks though,” he adds, a quiet sympathy in his tone. “Sounds kinda soulless.”

You let out a long, weary exhale, the weight of the words settling deep inside. “It is,” you agree, the truth hanging in the air like a shadow that refuses to leave.

“I’d love to do something else, but I don’t really know what,” you admit, your voice heavy with frustration. “I’ve always felt a connection to the sea, to everything in it—but catching all these fish, it’s like my soul is slowly being chipped away.” You let out a deep sigh, your eyes distant, haunted by the sight of the ocean’s wounds. “And the plastic... it’s everywhere. It clogs the water, suffocates the life. It’s maddening, you know? People are stupid,” you mutter, the anger in your chest bubbling over.

Jimin’s soft laugh cuts through the tension, and it takes you by surprise. His eyes, full of warmth, reflect the same frustration. “I agree,” he says, voice laced with quiet conviction. “The plastic—it’s everywhere. I’ve had to help so many fish and turtles get out of plastic bottles and containers. It’s heartbreaking.” His lips curl into a gentle scowl. 

Then, a smile breaks across his face, soft but genuine, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “But hey, I can help you brainstorm alternatives to catching fish on that boat,” he offers, the glint of curiosity in his eyes.

You laugh, the tension easing in your chest, your heart fluttering at the simplicity of the moment. “Yeah, we can do that tomorrow. I’d love to hear your ideas,” you say, a sense of ease settling between you. 

Jimin smiles, his heart racing slightly at the thought of tomorrow. As you talk, the conversation flows easily—your questions about his home, Naraeum, the life he leads there. He tells you that there’s no ‘work’ in the way you understand it, that their society values freedom above all else. Merfolk can take on roles if they choose, but many, like him, simply exist, untethered by obligation.

The sun begins to dip, casting its final, golden light over the water. You glance at the sky and realize it’s time to go. “I should head inside to get some dinner,” you say reluctantly, feeling the pull of the boat’s steady rhythm, but also the weight of your own hunger. 

Jimin nods, though a twinge of regret flickers in his eyes. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, his voice soft, filled with something unspoken.

He waves you a quiet goodbye, and with a flick of his tail, he dives into the water, his figure disappearing as he swims toward home—his heart a mix of eager excitement and a flutter of nerves, knowing tomorrow will bring him closer to a world he’s never truly known.  

The next day, Jimin glides through the dawn-touched water, the ocean aglow with soft gold as the rising sun kisses its surface. He reaches your boat just as the world begins to wake, his heart thudding with a mix of trepidation and anticipation. You greet him with a gentle smile, helping him aboard with the net he so despises. It entangles him briefly, like a stubborn remnant of the sea reluctant to let him go, but it’s the easiest way to bring him aboard without a fuss.

“You can hide in my room until we reach shore,” you whisper, your voice low and soothing, like the calm of the ocean before a storm. You hand him clothes—simple, unfamiliar garments—and he places them carefully on the wooden planks. He waits in silence, his shimmering tail already beginning to fade as the magic of transformation takes hold. When his legs return, he moves with an endearing awkwardness, pulling on the human clothes with clumsy hands before following you below deck. 

Your room is small, a haven carved out of the ship’s heart, yet it feels barren, like a place you exist in but do not truly inhabit. The walls are plain wood, the cream linens unremarkable, and the single duffel bag on the floor overflows with your life in disarray. Clothes spill out like secrets, but nothing in the space speaks of who you are. Jimin scans for something personal—a photograph, a trinket, a scrap of you—but finds nothing. It feels like a shell, a husk waiting to be filled, and he wonders if it mirrors how you feel here, adrift and longing.

As he settles into the quiet, he can’t help but wonder about the place you call home. Is it warm, filled with mismatched pieces of you—a kaleidoscope of colors and memories—or is it restrained, earthy and neutral, a sanctuary of simplicity? The thought lingers as he sits alone in your absence, his curiosity pulling him further into your world, one question at a time.

Jimin flinches slightly when you step through the door, the soft creak of the hinges breaking the quiet. You’re holding a plate in your hands, the aroma wafting toward him like a gentle invitation. His wide eyes soften as you pass him the food, and he takes a tentative bite. The flavors bloom on his tongue, unfamiliar yet comforting, like the memory of a warm embrace he didn’t know he’d missed.

“You made this?” he asks, glancing up at you, his eyes bright with curiosity and quiet admiration.

Your cheeks flush, and you glance away, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, I did.”

“It’s really good!” he exclaims, his grin unguarded as he dives back into the meal. The crisp, vibrant vegetables catch his attention—they taste fresh and alive, reminding him of the sea’s bounty.

You smile, a mix of relief and pride lighting your expression. “I’m glad you like it. We’re sailing back to land now, but it’ll take a while before we arrive. I need to go prepare for docking. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

He nods, his confidence warm and reassuring. “Oh, I’ll be fine,” he says easily, though his eyes flit around the room, seeking distraction. Then, something catches his attention—a book perched on your nightstand, its pages slightly curled from wear. “Can I read that?” he asks, pointing.

You follow his gaze and nod, a little surprised but pleased. “Sure,” you say, stepping out, leaving him with the quiet hum of the boat and his newfound curiosity.

The book feels delicate in his hands, its cover smooth and inviting. He opens it to find himself drawn into a tale of tangled fates: a woman, lost in the vast embrace of the woods, stumbles upon a brooding stranger whose silence hides his own scars. Jimin reads with rapt attention, imagining the dappled forest light and the quiet intimacy of strangers finding solace in each other. The words seem to pulse with life, vivid as seafoam and just as transient.

He’s just beginning to sense an undercurrent of tension—something deeper stirring between the characters—when the door swings open, and your voice pulls him back to the present. “We’ve docked,” you announce, your excitement barely masked under a layer of calm. 

Jimin sets the book down reluctantly, his mind lingering on the unfinished story. But then he looks at you, and it occurs to him that perhaps he’s stepped into a story of his own.

Jimin closes the book with a quiet snap, trailing after you as you reach for his hand. Your fingers intertwine with his, and he follows you onto the deck, his heart racing—not with fear, but with anticipation. The morning air greets him with familiar scents of salt and brine, mingled with the faintest trace of diesel and earth. Above, seagulls carve arcs against the blue sky, their cries a lilting symphony of the shore. 

The harbor is alive with motion with workers hefting crates, passengers milling about, and the rhythmic creak of moored boats swaying in the gentle tide. Jimin’s wide eyes take it all in as you weave through the crowd, his senses overwhelmed by the vibrant chaos. The sunlight gleams on water-slicked wood, and the reflections from the sea ripple across the hulls of nearby ships—small fishing boats and grand yachts alike. He stumbles once, distracted by the sheer newness of it all, but your hand steadies him, your warmth anchoring him amidst the tide of humanity.

“I want to show you my favorite place,” you muse, your voice lilting with quiet excitement. You glance over your shoulder at him, a teasing glint in your eyes that sparks his curiosity. 

“What’s your favorite place?” he asks, tilting his head to study you. His voice is quiet, though he can’t hide the wonder in it.  

“You’ll see soon,” you reply, your smile playful and soft. The secret wraps itself around the moment, and Jimin can’t help but feel giddy anticipation thrumming in his chest. Your hand fits so naturally in his, and the simple gesture sends a warmth through him, like the sun spilling over the waves.

As the crowd thins, you lead him down a quieter street lined with colorful storefronts and weathered cobblestones. The sounds of the harbor fade into the distance, replaced by the hum of life in this quaint corner of the world. Jimin moves to walk beside you now, his steps falling into rhythm with yours. 

Then, you stop before a tall, gleaming structure—its glass facade catching the morning light and scattering rainbows across the pavement. Above the entrance, bold letters spell out Ocean Wonders. Jimin freezes, a laugh bubbling up from his chest as the irony strikes him.

“This is your favorite place?” he asks, turning to you with amusement glimmering in his eyes.

“It is,” you say, grinning as you squeeze his hand. “You’ll see why.” There’s a spark of pride in your voice, and Jimin doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up as you lead him toward the entrance. The glass doors slide open with a soft whoosh, welcoming you into the heart of your secret place. As you step inside to purchase tickets, Jimin feels the excitement settle in his bones, like the pull of a current. If this place is a reflection of you, he knows it will be something truly extraordinary.

“Don’t you find it ironic, taking a merman to an aquarium?” Jimin chuckles as you hand over the money for your tickets. His tone is light, teasing, but his gaze carries the flicker of genuine amusement. You nudge him with your shoulder, a playful smirk gracing your lips.  

“Maybe, but you’re the best tour guide I could ask for,” you quip, stepping into the cavernous space.  

The air inside feels cool and alive with an undercurrent of the sea’s presence, the walls painted in deep blues and verdant greens. Overhead, glass ceilings allow rays of sunlight to dapple through, casting shifting patterns of light on the floors below. Jimin’s gaze drifts upward to the massive windows that frame the ocean in the distance, the waves visible beyond the aquarium’s curated worlds. 

Your footsteps echo softly as you approach a shallow touch pool filled with flat fish, their mottled skins blending with the sandy bottom. You lean over, rolling up your sleeve as you extend your fingers into the water, but the slippery creatures evade your touch with a practiced finesse. Jimin watches, amusement flickering in his eyes, and when he speaks, it’s not to mock, but to marvel.

“Flatfish have a trick,” he begins, his voice gentle but sure, “when they’re scared, they bury themselves under the sand, leaving only their eyes exposed. But they’re not just hiding; they’re watching, waiting.”  

His words captivate you as much as the fish do, and you glance up at him, intrigued. The informational placard nearby doesn’t say a word about this, but of course, Jimin would know. These creatures are his neighbors, after all. His world brims with secrets science has yet to uncover, and you realize, once again, how little humans know about the depths beneath the waves.

“Keep going,” you urge, your voice laced with wonder. Jimin grins, launching into more facts about the sea life before you, his knowledge as endless as the ocean itself.  

The two of you meander deeper into the exhibit, passing a chilly enclosure where penguins waddle and dive with unbridled joy. The cold air nips at your skin, and you instinctively press closer to Jimin, your arms brushing against his. He stiffens for a moment, surprised, but then relaxes, leaning into your warmth as if drawn by a tide he can’t resist.  

“Warmer now?” he murmurs, a hint of a laugh in his voice.  

“Much,” you reply, tilting your head to smile up at him before continuing toward the heart of the aquarium.  

You find yourselves before the massive central tank—a sprawling, shimmering pool alive with schools of fish, sleek rays, and prowling sharks. From the upper level, you both peer down, watching as a keeper tosses food into the water. The sharks move with a lethargic grace, their power undeniable but softened by the dreamy quality of the water. Jimin stands close, silent, observing not the animals but the awe on your face as you take it all in. 

When you venture below to the tunnel beneath the tank, the world transforms into an underwater cathedral. Light dances through the glass, rippling across your faces as the sharks glide overhead. Jimin’s fingers tighten around yours as you marvel at the creatures, your expression one of pure wonder.  

“It’s funny,” he says softly, his voice breaking the spell of silence. “I see this every day, but through your eyes, it feels…different. More magical.”  

You glance at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. A blush colors your cheeks, but you quickly deflect, pointing toward a particularly vibrant fish darting by.  

Jimin laughs, his chest rumbling lightly as he shares personal anecdotes about the creatures you pass. Stories about turtles he’s untangled from nets, rays he’s raced through coral canyons, and even sharks who’ve stubbornly refused to move from his favorite sunning rock. His tales are sprinkled with humor and affection, each one painting the ocean as not just a habitat, but a home.  

You listen, enraptured, giggling at his antics and marveling at his world. And as you walk together through the aquarium, you realize that this day isn’t just a glimpse into your favorite place—it’s a bridge between your worlds, built with each shared story, each laugh, and each lingering look.  

You guide him to the large pool that stretches before a neat row of seats—a shimmering expanse of water where visitors can slip beneath the surface and swim with the fish. This is your favorite place, a sanctuary of dreams just beyond your reach. “I’ve always wanted to dive with the fish,” you muse softly, your voice carrying a wistful longing as you gesture toward the glass, where iridescent fish dart and glide in hypnotic rhythms.  

Jimin watches you, a gentle smile gracing his face. He doesn’t say anything, but he feels your yearning as if it’s a song only he can hear. Swimming has always been second nature to him, as essential as breathing, and for the first time, he considers what it might mean to long for something so ordinary to him, yet so extraordinary to you.  

As you wander further, voices drift toward you—animated chatter about seals and feeding time. Jimin’s ears perk up, curiosity lighting his features. “I think they’re going to feed the seals,” he says, turning to you with a spark of childlike wonder in his eyes. “Can we go see?”  

“Of course,” you reply, unable to resist his enthusiasm. You take his hand and weave through the crowd, stepping out of the building and into the golden warmth of summer.  

The sun kisses your skin as you approach a stone-encased inlet, a small haven of water bordered by a bridge. Beyond the enclosure, the ocean stretches endlessly, a liquid mirror reflecting the azure sky. On a central platform, three seals lounge in anticipation, their sleek bodies gleaming under the sunlight. Jimin’s eyes widen as employees emerge with buckets of fish, tossing them to the eager creatures.  

The seals move with a playful grace, leaping and spinning for their rewards, drawing delighted gasps and cheers from the gathered crowd. Children press against the rails, their laughter ringing out like wind chimes, while elderly onlookers smile with quiet contentment. Jimin takes it all in—the shared joy, the simplicity of this moment, and the warmth of humanity’s connection to the creatures of his world.  

When the feeding ends, the crowd disperses, leaving only you and him. Hand in hand, you wander to the edge of the bridge, the faint murmur of the sea your only companion. The breeze is soft, carrying the scent of salt and the promise of freedom, and it stirs your hair like a whisper. The horizon glows faintly, the sun beginning its slow descent, painting the world in hues of gold and peach.  

You stand there, side by side, the ocean sprawling endlessly before you. Jimin feels the rhythmic pulse of the waves as if they’re beating in time with his heart. He glances at you, your gaze fixed on the water, your expression peaceful yet contemplative. The salt clings to your skin, the light dances in your eyes, and Jimin thinks there’s something magical about the way you fit into this moment—part of his world, yet entirely your own.  

“I can see why this is your favorite place,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a ripple in the air between you.  

You turn to him, your smile soft, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  

Jimin doesn’t reply right away, his thoughts caught between the beauty of the view and the person standing beside him. Finally, he nods, a faint blush warming his cheeks as he looks back to the sea.  

And as the waves lap gently against the stones, and the breeze carries the songs of the ocean to your ears, you stand there together, two worlds colliding in the quiet hush of twilight.

“You know, I’ve always loved the smell of salt in the air. There’s something about it—about the sea—that pulls at me,” you confess softly, your voice carrying a note of wistfulness, as though the waves have always whispered secrets only you can hear.  

Jimin nods, his expression warm with understanding. “I get it,” he replies, his voice as calm as the tide. But before you can say anything more, he begins to shrug off his clothes.  

Your eyes widen in alarm, your voice faltering. “Jimin, what are you doing?”  

He doesn’t answer, only grins mischievously before leaping into the pool with a joyful laugh, his golden tail flashing into existence as he hits the water.  

“Jimin!” you hiss, leaning over the railing, your hands clutching his abandoned clothes. “Someone is going to see you!”  

But Jimin only pops his head above the surface, his wet blonde hair plastered against his forehead, a cheeky glint in his eyes. The seals gather around him, chattering and circling like old friends. They nuzzle him playfully, their sleek bodies weaving through the water as though they’ve found one of their own.  

He laughs—a sound so free and unguarded that it momentarily quiets your worry. He dives beneath the surface, the faint sunlight catching the shimmering scales of his tail as he glides effortlessly from one end of the pool to the other. The seals follow, mirroring his playful energy, leaping, spinning, and splashing around him. It’s as if the world has turned into a living watercolor, the water glittering in shades of gold and sapphire under the afternoon sun.  

You watch, caught between panic and awe. Jimin looks so at home in the water, so alive. The grin on his face is radiant, brighter than you’ve ever seen it, and for a moment, you forget to breathe.  

Finally, when his energy wanes, Jimin pulls himself up onto the platform in the center of the pool. His golden tail glimmers briefly before vanishing, leaving him human again. You rush forward, his clothes clutched tightly in your hands, the edges of your worry returning.  

“Here,” you whisper urgently, holding the bundle out to him. He dresses quickly, the playful grin still lingering on his lips as you hover, scanning the area nervously.  

“Someone could have seen you,” you scold gently, your voice low but firm as you glance around to ensure the coast is clear.  

“But no one did,” he says, his voice brimming with unrepentant glee. “And I’ve never swum with seals before. It was amazing!”  

His smile is infectious—big and bright and full of a joy that feels like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Despite yourself, you let out a breath of laughter, shaking your head.  

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, though the corners of your lips betray you with the faintest hint of a smile.  

Jimin only chuckles, his gaze soft as he looks at you. “You should try it sometime,” he says, his tone playful but sincere. “You’d love it.”  

The seals bob in the water behind him, their curious eyes following his every move, and you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he’s right.  

You huff softly, the sound tinged with reluctant amusement, before grabbing his hand and tugging him back inside. Together, you explore every pool, tank, and glowing monitor, each filled with vibrant tales of the underwater world. Time slips through your fingers like grains of sand as you wander, sharing smiles, laughter, and awe over the secrets of the sea.  

When the day finally gives way to night, the two of you make your way toward the beach, the cool evening air laced with the scent of salt and the soft murmur of waves. The moon, a luminous pearl in the sky, casts its silver light across the water, while the stars sparkle like scattered diamonds above.  

You hold his hand a little tighter, reluctant to let go, your footsteps slow and lingering as you near the shore. The rhythm of the ocean mirrors the quiet thrum of your heart.  

“Today was really fun,” you murmur, your smile soft and genuine, your eyes shimmering under the moonlight.  

Jimin gazes at you, warmth spreading across his chest. “It was. Thank you for sharing it with me,” he replies, his voice gentle, the sincerity in it as deep as the ocean he calls home.  

“And thank you for all the extra details I never would’ve known,” you chuckle, squeezing his hand lightly. “You made it even better.”  

He pauses, hope glimmering in his eyes as he asks, “Can we do it again sometime?” His voice is quiet, like a wish spoken to the wind, but his expression holds the weight of his yearning.  

Your face brightens, a joyful laugh escaping your lips. “Yeah. I’d love that,” you answer, and the simple promise sends a warmth rippling through him.  

For a moment, the world feels infinite—just the two of you beneath the starlit sky, the waves singing softly in the background. Jimin can’t help but think how much lighter he feels in your company, like the pull of the tides no longer weighs him down.  

Boldly, he lifts your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your skin, his touch reverent, his gaze lingering. You let out a small, melodic giggle, and the sound feels like sunlight breaking through the night.  

With a smile that’s both tender and bittersweet, Jimin takes a step back. “Goodnight,” he whispers, his voice like the whisper of waves upon the shore.  

Then, as if the ocean itself is calling him home, he sheds his clothes and steps into the cool embrace of the water. His golden tail flashes in the moonlight before he dives beneath the surface, becoming one with the deep blue expanse.  

You stand there for a moment longer, the sea breeze tousling your hair, your heart warm despite the night’s chill. Above you, the stars seem to shine a little brighter, as though echoing the promise of another day, another adventure, together.  

“Can I talk to you?” Riley’s voice cuts through the ambient hum of the trawler, low and serious. The weight in his tone drags at your thoughts like an anchor, and a heavy sense of foreboding blooms in your chest. It’s been days since you last had peace, days since the ocean felt like a friend and not a prison.  

“Yeah?” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though your stomach twists like a knotted rope.  

“Come to my room in five minutes,” he says curtly, his words sharp and clipped. He turns on his heel before you can respond, leaving you alone with the pounding of your pulse and a growing sense of unease.  

The minutes crawl, each one heavier than the last, and yet curiosity tugs at you as strongly as dread. You follow the path to his room, the confined corridors of the ship feeling tighter with each step. When you enter, you find him waiting—arms crossed, his frame rigid, his expression unreadable but intense.  

“What is this about?” you ask, though your voice wavers, your throat tightening as the walls seem to press closer around you.  

“I saw you,” Riley says, the words sharp and deliberate, laden with something that feels more like a trap than an explanation.  

“Saw me?” you repeat, your confusion laced with a thread of panic.  

“With the merman,” he declares, his lips curling into a wicked smile that makes your blood run cold. The way he says it—like he’s just unearthed treasure or a weapon—sends a shiver down your spine.  

Your breath catches. Ice floods your veins as your eyes go wide. You know, with unshakable certainty, that this is bad—very, very bad.  

“I saw him—your little merman—at the aquarium,” Riley sneers, his voice a venomous whisper that slithers through the room. He pulls out his phone with a flourish, the screen lighting up to show a video. Jimin, bare and vulnerable, diving gracefully into the seal pool, his golden tail shimmering like sunlight dancing on the waves. He’s laughing, carefree, playing with the seals. It’s beautiful—and damning. Your stomach drops like an anchor.  

“I’ve got a neat little video right here,” Riley continues smugly, shoving the screen closer to your face, his words dripping with malice.  

Your heart sinks, the weight of dread pressing down on your chest—until it’s eclipsed by a sudden, white-hot fury.  

“You followed us?” you snap, your voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Are you stalking me?”  

Riley doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t deny it. He just keeps playing the video, his grin as sharp as broken glass. “I’m going to send this to every news outlet,” he says, his tone oozing malice. “Expose your little fish boy for what he is.”  

Rage boils inside you, threatening to erupt. God, you hate him. Hate that you ever let him close enough to your life, close enough to know you. Four years since you’d broken up, and yet he lingers like a storm cloud, his presence heavy, suffocating, and vile.  

Without thinking, your hand darts out, snatching the phone from his grasp. Your fingers move with precision, deleting the video in seconds. You shove the phone back into his chest, glaring daggers.  

“I’ve got backups,” he sneers, his voice sickly sweet, like poison laced with honey.  

Your vision tunnels. Fury burns brighter, hotter, until it takes over, your voice a low, dangerous growl. “If you so much as breathe that video to anyone—hell, even your mother—I swear to God, I’ll cut off your dick with a fishing wire.”  

Your hand clenches into a fist, trembling at your side as you glare at him. His smugness falters for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. You don’t give him a chance to respond.  

You step closer, the gap between you closing in an instant. Your hand drops to his groin, your grip ruthless and unyielding. He yelps, his smirk shattering into something closer to panic. Your voice is a venomous whisper as you lean in, your eyes locked on his.  

“I’m not afraid to use force. And you know I’ll do it.” Your grip tightens, his breath hitches, and you feel your anger seeping into every word. “Stop being a pathetic, jealous little fuck who follows me around like a lovesick puppy. We’re not together, Riley. We never will be. Dating you was the dumbest mistake of my life.”  

You release him with a shove, and he stumbles back, the air between you thick with tension. Every nerve in your body is alight with fury, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of showing any more. Instead, you don’t look back as you storm off, your footsteps heavy against the wooden floorboards, your breath shallow and sharp. The sea air greets you outside, but even its salty balm can’t soothe the fiery knot in your chest. You hate him. You hate the fact that you’re trapped on this godforsaken trawler with him for two more endless days, the horizon a prison of water. The thought of jumping ship flickers through your mind—a tempting escape—but the anchor of practicality holds you steady, bitterly tethered to this floating hell.  

When the morning sun rises, painting the waves in gold, Jimin surfaces beside the boat, his arrival like a breath of fresh air. His golden hair gleams in the light, and when he spots you, his eyes soften with concern. You crouch by the edge, confiding in him the storm Riley brewed the night before. You tell him how you’ve been scouring job boards, eager to chart a new course in life, and how you’ve managed to secure an interview when you return to land.  

Jimin listens intently, his tail glimmering beneath the water as he leans closer, the faint scent of the sea clinging to him. “I’m happy for you,” he says, his voice gentle but resolute. “Not about Riley, but about the job. You deserve to find something better.”  

You smile softly. “I’ll handle Riley. I always do.”  

Two nights later, under a canopy of stars and the watchful gaze of the moon, you meet Jimin by the beach. The waves kiss the shore in gentle whispers as you kick off your shoes and settle into the cool sand, the world feeling softer here, freer. Jimin lingers in the water, his tail flicking languidly beneath the surface, the golden scales catching the moonlight like shards of starlight scattered across the ocean.  

“I’ve got good news,” you say, unable to suppress the smile that spreads across your face, warm and radiant.  

“Oh?” His eyes brighten with curiosity, his tail swishing with anticipation.  

“I got a new job,” you announce, pride coloring your voice.  

His grin matches yours, wide and full of delight, as his tail flicks with an excited splash. “That’s amazing! What is it?”  

“At the aquarium!” you beam, your excitement spilling out like the tide.  

“That’s perfect for you,” he says, his delight as luminous as the moonlight on the water. His tail wiggles with unrestrained joy, sending ripples across the ocean’s surface.  

You nod, your heart full. “It really is. No more trawlers, no more Riley.” The mention of his name makes your expression harden for a moment, but it passes quickly. “I reported him to the police and got a restraining order.”  

Jimin’s gaze sharpens briefly, but he nods in approval, his protective instincts tempered by the knowledge that you can handle yourself.  

“And now,” you add, your smile returning, “you can come visit me there. We can hang out at the aquarium—or here at the beach. Wherever you like.”  

He chuckles softly, the sound rich and warm like waves lapping against the shore. “I think I’d like that,” he says, his eyes reflecting the stars as he looks at you.  

For a moment, the world feels perfect, the night serene and endless. The future, once shrouded in uncertainty, glimmers with possibilities as vast as the ocean itself.  

The past two months with Jimin have felt like a dream spun from sea foam and starlight. Every date has been a treasure, each moment with him brimming with charm and sweetness that leaves you glowing for hours afterward. He took you to meet his friends, and you remember that day because it was filled with so much laughter your stomach hurt. Or that time he took you snorkeling still lingers vividly in your mind—the feel of his hand warm in yours as you glided through the cool water, the sunlight rippling across the ocean floor, revealing patches of vibrant plants and curious little fish. His laughter, soft and soothing, danced through the water, carrying with it a joy you’ve never known before.

Tonight is another of those magical nights. Jimin insisted on coming to your place alone this time, so you’ve been pacing slightly, anticipation coiling in your chest like the rising tide. When a knock finally echoes through your apartment, your heart leaps.

Opening the door, you’re greeted by the sight of Jimin in a simple gray t-shirt and black sweatpants—nothing flashy, yet somehow, he looks devastatingly perfect. His soft smile lights up the hallway, and your knees weaken beneath its warmth. He’s holding something in his hands, and as he steps forward, he reveals it—a beautiful seashell, its surface polished smooth by the tides and dappled with shades of ivory and blush.

“This is for you,” he says, his voice soft yet earnest, his cheeks dusted with a bashful pink as he extends the shell toward you.

“For me?” you ask, cradling it gently in your palms as though it were the most delicate treasure. You run your fingers over its grooves, marveling at its beauty.

“I found it when I was with my friend Taehyung on one of his treasure hunts,” Jimin explains, glancing down shyly. “It reminded me of you.”

Your heart swells, full to bursting with affection. Without a second thought, you step forward, wrapping your arms around him. His scent—clean, with a faint trace of salt and something uniquely Jimin—wraps around you as you press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you so much, Jimin,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I love it.” You guide him inside, carefully placing the seashell in a special spot on your display cabinet. The cabinet gleams under the soft light, filled with your collection of oceanic treasures, and now this—this piece that feels more precious than all the others combined.

“Come in, sit down,” you say, turning back to him with a bright smile. “I’ve made dinner.”

You gesture toward the sofa, where the table is already set, the aroma of the food filling the room with warmth and comfort. Jimin follows your lead, his eyes softening as he watches you, and you can’t help but think that tonight is just another reminder that sometimes, life’s greatest treasures aren’t found in the depths of the ocean—but in the small, quiet moments shared with someone you love.

He settles onto the sofa, and the two of you begin to eat, the soft glow of the television bathing the room in flickering hues. A documentary on the ocean plays, its serene narration filling the air. But it’s Jimin’s quiet interjections that captivate you most—he leans closer, offering rich, vivid details about the creatures on screen, things the narrator doesn’t know, weaving a story of his own. His voice is soft yet full of life, making you smile between bites.

When the documentary ends, you find yourselves drawing closer, as if by an invisible thread pulling you together. His warmth envelops you, steady and calming, and the rhythmic beat of his heart becomes a lullaby against your senses.

His gaze meets yours, deep and earnest, the kind that seems to hold unspoken worlds within. “I’m really grateful to have met you, you know?” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere, carrying the weight of emotion unhidden.

You hum in response, your fingers brushing over his hand, a small but comforting gesture.

“I used to think humans were… bad,” he admits, his words tinged with vulnerability. “But you’ve only shown me kindness. You’re so nice, so sweet, and I…” His other hand reaches up, tenderly combing through your hair, his fingers a soothing presence.

You’re sitting in his lap now, his arms wrapping around you in a cocoon of comfort. His frame surrounds you, a perfect shield against the world. “All this time we’ve spent together,” he continues, his voice softening like the tide pulling back, “it’s only made me realize how much I like you.”

You feel the curve of his smile against your temple, a quiet and unspoken joy radiating from him.

“Well, I like you too, Jimin,” you say, your voice a gentle melody as you nuzzle deeper into his embrace. His hold on you tightens, protective yet tender, and he leans down to press a delicate kiss to your temple.

“I want to do something for you,” he murmurs, his voice brushing against your skin like a warm breeze. “Repay the favor, or… something.”

You shake your head softly, a smile spreading across your lips. “You’ve done plenty, Jimin. You don’t have to do anything more than simply be here.” Your words are quiet but firm, carrying the truth of how much his presence alone means to you.

He hums in thought, the sound resonant and deep, as though he’s weighing something in his mind. “Can I…” he starts, but hesitates, biting his bottom lip as uncertainty flickers in his expression.

Your gaze tilts up to meet his. “What is it?” you ask, chuckling lightly, your voice teasing and warm. “What’s on your mind?”

His eyes drop for a moment before returning to yours, nervous yet earnest. “I was wondering if I could touch you?” His voice is almost a whisper, laced with vulnerability, his cheeks faintly tinged with pink.

“You are touching me,” you reply, playful but soft, a knowing smile curving your lips. Still, there’s a glimmer in your eyes, a gentle understanding of the deeper meaning behind his words.

“That’s not what I mean,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly strained, as if he’s holding something back. He exhales, a hint of frustration slipping through as his lips hover near your ear. “I want to have… you,” he finally admits, his tone steady, yet laced with yearning.

You can’t help but chuckle, the sound soft and inviting, as your body instinctively shifts against him. His hardening cock behind you responds immediately, pressing into your back. Turning your head slightly, you meet his gaze with a mischievous smile. “I want you too, Jimin,” you whisper, your voice dripping with warmth. “You can touch me.”

Your words barely leave your lips before you press them to his, drawing him into a kiss that’s tender yet electric. His lips part, and the moment deepens—a dance of warmth and hunger. Your moans, soft and unrestrained, spill into his mouth, and he swallows each sound as if it were a secret meant only for him.

His hand trails downward, slow and deliberate, the pads of his fingers grazing your bare thigh before finding the waistband of your shorts. With a deft motion, his hand slips beneath the fabric, venturing under the delicate lace of your panties. His touch sends a shiver cascading through you, and you exhale sharply, arching your back into him as anticipation coils tight in your belly.

When his fingers find the sensitive bud of your clit, already slick with arousal, your breath hitches. He moves carefully at first, testing, his touch featherlight. His lips graze your cheek as he whispers into your ear, “Like this?” His voice is low, smoky, and devastatingly intimate.

“Yes—” The word escapes you on a shaky breath, your hips shifting to meet his hand as his fingers begin their deliberate, intoxicating rhythm. He circles your clit with just the right pressure, each motion igniting sparks of pleasure that radiate through you.

His lips find your ear, teasing it with gentle nibbles, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into a groan as he feels you respond to his touch, your body soft and pliant against his.

As his other hand joins in the exploration, it trails lower, fingers slipping between your folds. You’re soaked now, your arousal coating his fingers as they explore your entrance. One finger slides in, slow and deliberate, sending a gasp tumbling from your lips.

“Ahh—” Your breath catches, and your words come out in a broken plea. “You can add another finger.”

He obliges, his movements careful, his second finger pressing in to join the first. He curls them inside you with precision, brushing against that soft, perfect spot that has your back arching and your voice spilling over in desperate cries of his name.

The heat between you intensifies as you grind back into him, feeling the hard length of him against you, evidence of his own growing need. He moans your name into your ear, his voice a heady mix of reverence and desire, the sound sending a rush of heat through your veins.

“You feel so good,” he breathes, his voice shaky, his control slipping as his fingers continue their exquisite work, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body trembles as the crest of your climax surges through you, a tidal wave of euphoria unleashed by his touch. When his fingers pinch your clit, it’s the final spark that ignites you, and your voice breaks in a desperate cry of his name. “Ah, Jimin!” you groan, your body thrashing in his arms as pleasure consumes you. Your walls pulse around his fingers, and he doesn’t stop, coaxing you through the high with ease, his voice a soothing hum of reassurance.

When the aftershocks make you hypersensitive, you shift off his lap, your chest heaving as you fight for air. The room feels electric, charged with the heat of your shared intimacy. Your hands tremble slightly as you strip away your shorts and panties, baring yourself fully to him. “I need you,” you murmur, voice breathless but determined. “I want to feel you inside me.”

Jimin’s eyes widen, his pupils blown with lust, dark as the midnight sea. His arousal is evident, straining against the fabric of his black sweatpants. When you tug them down, revealing his dick—he’s bare beneath them, as always—you bite your lip at the sight. It’s a fact that never fails to make your pulse race.

“You’re never wearing underwear,” you whisper, your voice tinged with amusement and heat.

His cheeks flush, but he doesn’t get a chance to respond before your fingers wrap around him. He hisses through his teeth, his hips twitching forward as if drawn to your touch by magnetic force. “Your dick is so pretty,” you murmur, stroking him slowly, savoring the feel of him in your hand.

“T-thanks,” he chokes out, his voice a strained mix of pleasure and restraint. You smile softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his flushed tip, tasting the salt of him. His groan is low and guttural, a sound that vibrates through your core as you take him into your mouth.

You tease him with languid, deliberate movements, your lips sliding over his cock while your tongue flicks against the sensitive underside. His hands tangle in the fabric of the couch, his breath coming in sharp gasps as you explore him. But just as he begins to unravel, you pull away with a soft, wet pop, leaving him trembling beneath you.

“Maybe I’ll give you a proper taste another time,” you tease, your voice thick with desire. “Right now, I need you to fuck me.”

Jimin’s head falls back, and he releases a shaky laugh, his hands flexing at his sides as though grounding himself. “Yeah, sounds good,” he stammers, his voice hoarse with want.

You climb onto his lap, your knees pressing into the soft cushion on either side of his powerful thighs. Your hand wraps around his dick, guiding him to your entrance, and you sink down slowly, inch by inch. The stretch is delicious, a sensation that has you throwing your head back with a moan. “God, Jimin,” you breathe, your fingers clutching his shoulders as you take him fully inside you.

He groans, deep and guttural, his head tipping forward to rest against your collarbone. “So tight,” he pants, his grip firm on your hips, as though anchoring himself in the moment.

You chuckle softly, rolling your hips experimentally, savoring the way he fills you. “It’s good, isn’t it?” you murmur, brushing a hand through his hair.

“Better than good,” he grunts, his voice rough as the sea during a storm. His hands guide you, encouraging your movements as you begin to ride him, your bodies moving together in a rhythm as old as the tides.

A playful smile curls your lips as you lean closer, your voice light with mischief. “Better than merfolk sex?”

His laughter is strained but genuine, a sound that melts into a groan as your pace quickens. “It’s… different,” he manages, his words punctuated by the hitch in his breath.

You lean forward, brushing your lips against his as your movements slow, rolling your hips languidly to draw out every sensation. “Good different?” you whisper, your voice barely audible above the sound of your ragged breathing.

His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “Perfect,” he murmurs against your lips, and in that moment, you know he means it. It sends shivers down your spine as you pick up the pace. You ride him with a ferocity that leaves no room for restraint, your body taking what it craves as his dick fills you perfectly, over and over again.

Jimin’s head falls back, his golden hair cascading around his face like a halo, shimmering even in the dim light. His beauty is almost otherworldly, but it’s the raw humanity of his reactions—his moans, his gasps, the way his lips part in ecstasy—that makes your heart race even faster.

Your hands grip his shoulders for support, and you lean in to kiss him, pouring every ounce of your desire into the connection. Your lips crash together, tongues tangling, and the sound of your shared groans fills the air like a symphony. When his hips begin to rise and meet yours, thrusting into you with a powerful rhythm, you cry out.

“There!” you scream, your voice trembling with bliss as he strikes that perfect spot deep inside you, sending your mind spiraling into chaos.

He laughs breathlessly against your lips, his tone tinged with mischief and triumph. His fingers grip your hips firmly, his touch possessive as though anchoring you to him. He kisses you again, slower this time, his lips devouring yours with unspoken promises.

“I want to have merfolk sex with you too,” you pant, the words spilling from you unbidden as your eyes lock onto his, searching for… something. Something intangible, something only he can give you.

Jimin’s breath hitches, his smile faint but wicked. “Later,” he murmurs, his voice strained yet teasing. “Right now, I just want to feel this.”

You groan, your chest pressing against his as his hips surge upward, faster and harder, the rhythm pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Fuck,” you gasp, feeling the heat coil tight and hot in your core. “I’m going to come again soon.”

His response is a low, broken moan, his lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?”

Instead of answering, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, your lips finding the tender skin there. You kiss him softly, your teeth grazing just enough to make him gasp, and when he mirrors your actions, nibbling at your neck, goosebumps ripple across your skin.

Your breath catches, your body shuddering as his thrusts grow rougher, deeper, each one stoking the fire inside you until it finally erupts. “Jimin…,” you cry out, his name a prayer on your lips as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. You collapse against him, your head resting on his shoulder as you tremble through the aftershocks, your walls squeezing him tight.

“Shit,” he rasps, his voice cracking as he feels the way you pulse around him. “I didn’t think it could get tighter. Fuck.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, the sound breathy and light, which only makes him groan louder, his hips faltering. His need is palpable, every thrust a desperate chase toward his own release.

“God, it feels so good,” he pants, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

“It does,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his neck. Your fingers thread through his hair as you murmur in his ear, “Now come inside me. Fill me up.”

Your hips move together in a rhythm that feels almost sacred, each motion drawing you closer, tethering you in a shared moment of bliss. Jimin throws his head back, his golden hair glistening with a faint sheen of sweat as he gasps your name, the sound reverberating like music in your ears. His body shudders beneath yours, his release spilling into you as his breaths come in ragged pants.

“Holy—,” he starts, his voice cracking with the remnants of his climax, but you smile, running your fingers through his tousled locks, grounding him.

“It was amazing,” you finish softly, leaning in to kiss him. The kiss is languid, unhurried, your lips brushing his with the tenderness of someone who knows this moment will linger in your memory forever.

You remain still, savoring the aftershocks coursing through both your bodies, the quiet intimacy of him still buried within you. His cock twitches faintly, and you giggle as you feel the first trickles of his release slipping out of you, warm and unhurried, down to his thighs.

“Maybe we should clean up,” you say, a playful lilt in your voice.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, his laughter soft and warm, “it’s definitely sticky.”

“Come take a bath with me,” you suggest, sliding off him with care, your fingers intertwining with his as you pull him to his feet. Together, you make your way to the bathroom, your giggles echoing in the quiet space as you both use tissues to clean up.

The bathwater fills the tub in a cascade of steam and heat, and when it’s ready, you shed the last remnants of your clothing, stepping in with Jimin close behind. The water embraces you like a warm cocoon, and as you settle down, Jimin takes his place behind you, his sturdy thighs cradling you as they had on the couch. His hands move to your hair, working in gentle strokes as he massages your scalp, letting the warm water cascade over your skin.

“This is nice,” you murmur, your head tilting back to rest against his chest.

“It is,” he agrees, though there’s a soft chuckle in his voice. “But I’ll probably shift into my merman form soon.”

You smile, turning your head just enough to press a kiss to his bicep. “I love when you’re a merman.”

He beams at your words, and with a shimmer of light, golden sparkles dance around him like fireflies, transforming his legs into a resplendent golden tail. The fins spill over the edge of the tub, their iridescent sheen catching the bathroom light, making the moment feel dreamlike.

You shift slightly, giving him more space as the water ripples around his transformation. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close again, his tail flexing gently beneath the surface.

“Do you… maybe,” he begins, his voice tentative, but there’s an almost boyish eagerness in his tone that makes you smile.

“Just say it, Jimin,” you tease softly, leaning further into his embrace.

He laughs, his breath warm against your temple as he gathers his courage to speak.

“Do you want to date me? Become my mate?” Jimin’s voice carries a quiet hope, his brown caramel eyes searching yours as if the entire ocean hinges on your answer.

“Like a girlfriend? Like a relationship?” you ask, tilting your head, your gaze diving into the endless warmth of his eyes.

He bites his lip, hesitating for a moment before his words tumble out. “Yeah. It’s a relationship, but being mates is more than that. It’s a promise—a bond for life. At least, that’s what it means for merfolk.” He pauses, his voice softening. “But we can take it slow if you want to.”

A chuckle escapes your lips as you nuzzle your head into his chest, the steady thrum of his heart grounding you. “I want to be your mate,” you whisper, the truth of it blooming in your chest like a sunrise over the waves.

Relief floods his face as he kisses your forehead, his golden tail flicking above the water with a ripple that catches the light. It’s such a simple motion, yet it sends your heart fluttering like the wings of a butterfly.

You sit there for a while, submerged in the warmth of the water and the closeness of him. His lips find yours, soft and sweet, and your hands wander—tracing the smooth scales of his tail and the hard planes of his chest. Time seems to dissolve, lost in the salty scent of him, the ocean a mere echo in the distance.

Then, like a sudden wave crashing on the shore, a thought surfaces in your mind. “Do you maybe want to help me with a work thing?” you ask, your voice tinged with a hopeful excitement.

He chuckles, his lips quirking in that way that makes your stomach flip. “What is it?”

“Well…” you begin, unable to keep the grin off your face. “I’m hosting this merfolk event at the aquarium for kids. I’ve got this mermaid costume and everything, but I thought… maybe you could show up as a merman in the big pool? We could dive and swim together—give the kids a show they’ll never forget. Obviously, I’ll tell them you’re wearing a costume too,” you add quickly, your cheeks warming at the thought of how much you want this—not just for the kids, but for yourself.

Jimin blinks at you for a moment before his face lights up with a smile as dazzling as the sunlight on the waves. “Sure,” he says, his voice warm. “I’d love to.”

He leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss, deeper this time, and it’s then that you realize you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of him. Not his salty scent, not his plush, addictive lips, and certainly not the way he makes your heart feel like it’s swimming in its own current of joy.

The day of the merfolk event has finally arrived, and the aquarium is alive with an energy you’ve never felt before. Laughter and whispers of anticipation fill the air as kids clutch their parents’ hands, eyes wide with wonder. The normally tranquil space is transformed into a shimmering underwater dreamscape. Seashells and trailing strands of faux kelp adorn every corner, while cardboard cutouts of merfolk in a spectrum of skin tones stand as guardians of the magic. Soft, ethereal music hums overhead, making the air feel thicker, as if you’ve already slipped beneath the waves.

Backstage, near the pool you adore, you wrestle with the fabric tail of your mermaid costume, trying to coax it into place. It’s always been your favorite spot in the aquarium—the big pool where the water gleams like liquid sapphire, reflecting the ceiling’s soft lights.

You’re muttering to yourself when Jimin appears, his presence as effortless as a tide rolling in. His golden hair is swept back, and his smile—wide and warm—makes your heart skip.

“Oh, hi, babe,” you say, flashing him a quick grin as you tug futilely at the tail.

“Hi, babe,” he mimics with a laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your predicament.

“You don’t have to put that on,” he says, stepping closer with a glint of mischief. “I have something better for you.”

From behind his back, he reveals a bundle of something strange yet mesmerizing—a ribbon of kelp, but unlike any you’ve seen. Its tendrils shimmer with an otherworldly glow, the orange hue reminiscent of a sunset bleeding into the horizon.

“What is it?” you ask, reaching out to touch it.

“This,” he says, his fingers brushing yours as he places it in your hands, “is Merwhisper Kelp. It lets humans become merfolk for one hour.” His voice is soft, filled with excitement and affection. “I thought you might like to swim with me today as a real mermaid. Make it… special.”

The idea leaves you breathless, your thoughts spinning as you meet his gaze. “Special how?” you tease, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “We could show them a merfolk mating ritual.”

Your cheeks flush crimson as your jaw drops. “Like… having sex in front of the kids?!”

He bursts out laughing, the sound rich and musical, shaking his head. “No, no, no. It’s not like human sex, I promise,” he explains, his voice steady despite his amusement. “There’s nothing explicit about it—it’s more like a dance. A connection. Trust me, it’ll be beautiful.”

The sincerity in his eyes melts away your embarrassment, replacing it with intrigue. “You’ll guide me?” you ask softly, your fingers tightening around the kelp.

“Always,” he says, his smile gentle as the tide.

Your heart stirs, and with a nod, you release the fabric tail you’d been fighting with. “Okay. That sounds… amazing.”

He leans in then, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that feels like a promise, warm and lingering.

“I’ll head out first and start the show,” you say, your voice lighter now, a mix of nerves and excitement. Grabbing a robe to cover yourself, you glance back at him, your smile mirrored in his golden gaze. “Wait for me, yeah?”

“Always,” he says again, his voice steady and sure, as you step out toward the glowing auditorium.

You stand before the vast, crystalline pool, its surface shimmering under the soft glow of the aquarium lights, and the crowd of children before you vibrates with barely-contained energy. Their laughter bubbles up like champagne, effervescent and infectious, as their wide eyes focus on you with wonder.

“Hi, everyone!” you begin, your voice bright and warm, your hands clasped over your heart. “Are you excited to be here today?”

A chorus of giggles and shouts fills the room, their enthusiasm washing over you like a wave.

“That’s wonderful! Today, I have something very special to share with you,” you continue, leaning in as if confiding a grand secret. “Today, I’m asking you to believe in magic and fantasy—to let your imaginations take you somewhere extraordinary.” Your eyes sparkle as you gesture toward the pool.

“My boyfriend and I are going to show you how merfolk swim and dance underwater,” you announce with a grin, watching their faces light up in awe. “We’re going to wear costumes, of course,” you add with a playful wink, “but I want you to imagine it’s all real. Because, really, anything is possible if you can dream it. Right?”

The children nod eagerly, their cheers like tiny waves crashing onshore.

“Oh, and let me introduce someone special,” you say, gesturing toward your coworker. “This is Simon, and he’s going to narrate everything while I’m underwater!” Simon gives a mock bow, earning a ripple of applause and laughter.

With a final smile and wave, you step backstage, your heart racing, where you find Jimin waiting for you. His soft smile is a beacon of reassurance, grounding you as excitement tingles through your veins.

“You’re really about to make my dreams come true, you know that, right?” you say, your words spilling out in a giddy laugh as you reach for the Merwhisper Kelp in his hands.

“That was the whole point,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a mischievous smile as he leans in to kiss you, soft and lingering.

As the kelp touches your tongue, an electric sensation ripples through your body. Your legs feel strange—like they’re dissolving and reforming all at once. Sparkles erupt in a dazzling cascade around you, and a gasp escapes your lips as you collapse gently to the ground.

You gape in amazement at the transformation. A shimmering silver tail, adorned with translucent scales that catch the light like diamonds, extends where your legs used to be. Your torso is now clad in a delicate seashell bra that feels as though it was crafted from the ocean itself.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice filled with wonder as you trail your fingers over the scales. The tail feels strange yet beautiful—foreign and familiar all at once.

Jimin kneels beside you, his golden eyes alight with admiration. “You look stunning as a mermaid too,” he says softly, his hand brushing over yours. “Now, go on. Jump into the water—I’ll be right behind you.”

You nod, still breathless with awe, and begin sliding toward the edge of the pool. The smooth tiles give way to the cool embrace of the water as your tail dips in, sending a shiver of delight up your spine. Tentatively, you let yourself slide further, the pool enveloping you.

The moment your body is fully immersed, it’s as if the world has shifted. You float effortlessly, your tail moving with a fluid grace you never imagined. Tiny bubbles rise to the surface, carrying your laughter with them. The water cradles you, weightless and serene, and you can’t help but giggle at the pure magic of it all.

Words fail you—this feeling is beyond description, an ethereal blend of joy and wonder. You glance up, and through the rippling surface, Jimin smiles down at you. In this moment, the world feels limitless, and magic is not just something you believe in—it’s something you live.

You feel the warmth of a hand at the small of your back, where the delicate curve of your skin meets the smoothness of your shimmering scales. Jimin glides up beside you, his smile a radiant beacon in the water. Without hesitation, you swim into him, pressing your lips to his in a quick, electrifying kiss before gliding forward, emerging into view for the children to see.

Your heart swells—so full of love, it almost feels as though it could burst from your chest. You reach for his hand, and the connection between you is a thread of pure joy, binding your hearts together with unspoken promises. Together, you swim effortlessly beside the swaying kelp, darting through rocky formations, surrounded by the shimmering world of the deep, until you come to the massive glass wall that separates you from the fascinated eyes of the children.

As you break through the surface, the children’s gasps of awe and delight fill the air, their faces alight with wonder. You wave, your heart fluttering as Simon spins tales of merfolk—stories gifted to him by Jimin himself.

Turning toward Jimin, your gaze finds him, and the world around you seems to melt away. His eyes, soft and deep, hold your universe within them, a world built on love and unspoken understanding. He reaches for both your hands, lifting them in front of your faces as he gently presses his body against yours. His chest against yours feels like coming home.

With a slow, tender movement, he begins to spin you in the water, guiding you in a dance as old as time. You laugh, the sound bubbling through the water, as your tails entwine in fluid harmony. His kiss comes then—deep, slow, full of longing—as if he’s been waiting for this moment all his life. In the embrace of his lips, you feel like everything has led to this. Like you were born to dance like this, to love like this. It’s as if two worlds—yours and his—are colliding, fusing together in one seamless, breathtaking whole.

This is what merfolk love must be—this swirling connection, this surrender to the current of passion and tenderness. The kiss deepens, the world slipping away into a blissful haze, and for a moment, you can’t hear the laughter of the children. All that matters is this—a love so pure, so magical, it transcends everything. The only thing that exists in this moment is Jimin, the love you share, and the extraordinary gift he’s given you.

The world is perfect here, in the waters where love flows as effortlessly as the ocean itself. And you are exactly where you belong, with him.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle

→ Series taglist: @allie-in-the-moon @bangtannie7 @suker4angst @women-kisseer @13-manggaetteok

→ Author’s endnote: waaaah 🤧 Personally, I think this one turned out so much better than Tae’s (not that I don’t think that was good!) but I guess it’s just a lot easier for me to write Jimin? Anyway. What do you guys think of this one? Are you still excited for the last two? ✨💜

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[hakusins]

fire those rounds, lower the rent, scare the puritans, i give you consent

cw // mentions of kinks

haha i can't believe i made it - i hope you can read my shitty handwriting now if you excuse me. *buries myself into the sand for the next 20 years*

edit: FUCK I FORGOT BREEDING KINK-

[gigabyte-flare]

The Dragon's Respite

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: It's early in the morning of the day that the Midnight Rangers are set to confront the Threnodian threat along side the mysterious Rover. You awake to find your lover restless and you are determined to ease his troubled thoughts.

Word Count: 1.3k

Pairing: Jiyan x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: mostly fluff, very mild angst, unprotected p in v, creampie

A/N: To say I've been addicted to Wuthering Waves is an understatement. Jiyan has lived rent free in my head since I started the game. I need this man in a way that is concerning to feminism.

And before anyone says anything, yes, I am well aware that Jiyan is not a dragon; it is just incredibly sexy to call him a dragon. Don't at me 🤣

It is the chill of the room that wakes you, realizing you are not wrapped in the embrace of your lover. Your eyes flutter open, the room is dark still, the shades drawn closed to keep out prying eyes. Even so, from behind them, you can see the first signs of the early morning, much to your dismay. You sit up, your eyes scanning the dark room until they settle on the figure sitting at the end of the bed, his hands resting on his thighs, his luscious teal hair disheveled from sleep.

You slowly sit up, leaning over to the bedside table to grab the brush sitting on it. You shift yourself so that you're behind him. With the brush in hand, you begin to comb out the general's hair.

"What's the matter, Jiyan?" you ask, the concern evident in your voice as you continue to brush out his hair, your eyes scanning over the toned muscle of his back, "you're really tense."

"The Retroact Rain will start rising soon," Jiyan replies, rolling his right shoulder, "and when it does, I have to be ready."

You let out a deep sigh, now putting Jiyan's hair up in his signature pony tail, giving you a clear view of the Tacet Mark that runs down his spine. You reach for it, gently dragging your fingers tips down the mark. This elicits a soft sigh from him and you can’t help but smile in response. You then lean forward, placing a soft kiss upon the mark.

Jiyan groans, turning towards you to capture your lips in a tender kiss. He brings his hand up, running his fingers through your hair.

"Are you trying to awaken the dragon, my love?" he asks, the pupils in his golden eyes dilating slightly as he pulls away from the kiss.

You bite your bottom lip, giving Jiyan a playful but knowing look, "perhaps I am…"

A low chuckle emanates from him as he turns his body towards you. You lay yourself back down on the bed as he climbs on top of you, caging you under his body. Your gaze travels down his chiseled form before settling on the noticeable bulge under his grey sweatpants.

"My eyes are up here, love," Jiyan says with a chuckle, gently grasping your chin between his index finger and thumb, coaxing your gaze back to his face, "we'll need to be quick."

His fingers hook into the hem of his sweatpants, quickly removing them as you remove your own pajamas, the two of you now completely nude. Jiyan wastes no time settling his hips between your spread legs. The head of his cock teases your soaked entrance, causing your breath to hitch. Grasping your hips in his hands, he sheathes himself into you with a single thrust. He lets out a low moan as he begins to move his hips, angling his hips so that his cock hits all the right places inside you, making you see stars.

Your fingers latch onto his back, your fingernails digging into his Tacet Mark inadvertently, eliciting a growl from him. His lips devour yours as he begins to pound into you, the head of his member kissing your cervix with each thrust. The heels of your feet dig into the bed as you cry out his name.

"I-I'm… I'm so close, Jiyan--!"

He lets out another chuckle, "oh, I know, love," he leans down to whisper in your ear, "your pretty pussy always flutters around my cock just before I send you into bliss."

That is the catalyst that sends you over the edge and your release gushes around him, pulling another chuckle out of him. He, however, is not finished with you. Looping his arms around your legs, he props them onto his shoulders as he practically folds you in half, strengthening his assault on your throbbing cunt. Overstimulated, tears run down the sides of your face as you cover your mouth with one of your hands, screaming into it as to prevent your cries from being heard by the entire Midnight Rangers camp.

Jiyan's thrusts start to become erratic as he chases his own release. He brings one of his hands up to cup the side of your face, carefully pulling your hand away from your mouth before saying softly, "where do you want me, love?"

"Inside," you plead, your breaths labored as you reach up, grasping the back of his head, "please, Jiyan…"

He smirks at you, his gold eyes boring into yours, "of course, love. I'll give you everything I have."

With a couple more powerful thrusts, he pushes himself inside you as deep as he can go, painting your pussy walls with his hot seed with a loud groan. Sealing his lips over yours, his tongue invades your mouth as his cock continues to throb inside you. You moan into his kiss, your tongue welcoming his as you drape your arms around his shoulders. Breaking away from the kiss, Jiyan rests his forehead against yours, his breaths labored as he comes down from his orgasm. You whimper softly, your body trembling beneath his in the aftermath of your own release.

Jiyan leans back down, giving you another tender kiss, which you happily reciprocate, his fingers combing through your hair as he deepens the kiss. An abrupt knock on the door shatters the blissful moment, causing you to jump; meanwhile, Jiyan lets out an irritated groan.

"General Jiyan!" a male voice calls out from the other side of the door, "your presence is needed, sir! Rover and Yangyang are on their way!"

He props himself up on his hands, slowly unsheathing himself from your warmth. You can feel his cum leak out from you, causing a smile to cross your lips. Jiyan smiles down at you, bringing his hand back up to caress your cheek.

"Do you mind helping me dress?" he asks, the sorrow clear in his golden gaze.

"Of course I don't mind, Jiyan."

Jiyan climbs off the bed and walks over to the closet while you pick up your pajamas off the floor, putting them back on. Meanwhile, Jiyan has begun to dress, putting on his leather pants, boots and the tight black leather tank top; you always loved how it perfectly accentuates his toned chest. The rest of his uniform is piled onto the bed; you pick up the beautiful fabric and help him get it on. It takes several minutes to get the robes of his uniform on, as there are several intricate pieces that have to be placed perfectly. Thankfully for you, this is not the first time you've helped Jiyan put his uniform on, and it certainly won't be your last.

Once he's dressed, you can't help but take a step back to marvel at him; you were always a sucker for a man in uniform. Another chuckle from Jiyan breaks you out of your daze, causing you to blush. Jiyan approaches you, placing his hands onto your hips before kissing you once more as you drape your arms onto his shoulders.

You break the kiss, letting out a soft sigh, "promise you'll come back to me, Jiyan."

"Not even the Threnodian can keep me from you, my love."

He plants one last kiss onto your forehead before turning away from you, walking up to grab his sword that is leaning up against the wall, sheathing it into his belt. He walks up to the door, which automatically slides open from his presence. He stops in the threshold, turning his head slightly to address you once more.

"Don't you worry, love. Victory will be ours."

[differenteagletragedy]

So yesterday someone requested a swap AU fic with Baxter as the boy who moved across the street, Cove as his friend you met at 13 and Derek as the guy who rented the condo for the summer. I promptly lost my mind, so here is more.

This is the part in Step 3 when everyone goes to the restaurant and Cove tells everyone he's going to get an apartment and he and MC have a moment, except Baxter style.

"Tell your boyfriend to stop fixing his hair and come on, I'm hungry," Liz said impatiently.

"He's not my boyfriend and he has his process," you replied, looking across the street at your best friend's house.

You, Liz, your moms and Lee were all outside, waiting to go to dinner. Baxter had been invited as well, but it seemed he was running a bit late.

As you were pulling out your phone to text him, he finally appeared. He had a troubled expression, but once he saw you and your family already assembled by your mom's car he turned on a practiced smile and jogged over.

"My apologies," he said, coming to a stop by your side. "I won't hold us up any further. Shall we?"

He held his arm up for you to take and Liz snorted, then said, "We'll meet you there."

Baxter, for all his eccentricities that you'd come to know so well in then ten years you'd been friends, fancied himself a bit of a gentleman. He always offered you his arm when walking anywhere, and you always accepted. You'd had a crush on him for years but had always been too nervous to tell him, so being close to him in any capacity was nice.

Tonight felt a bit different though. Usually he gave off a warmth when you were together, a sort of easygoing gentleness that you'd always noticed was reserved only for you, but now he was tense. As you settled in the passenger seat of his car, ready to follow your family to the restaurant, you saw that his shoulders were tense, and his jaw clenched. He wouldn't look at you.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said a little too quickly as he pulled out onto the street. You kept looking at him, and eventually he let out a sigh.

"Family stuff again?" you asked.

"It's miserable there," he responded, keeping his voice low as he always did when he talked about his parents. Being vulnerable was difficult for him, but he was able to manage it with you.

"I'm sorry," you told him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It's only gotten worse since I've turned 18," he continued. "It's like all the expectations they've placed on me my entire life should have suddenly manifested as soon as I became an adult, and because they haven't, and they won't, they're taking it out on me."

Baxter's voice got even lower, and there was a pain to it as he added, "It's unbearable."

You tried to comfort him as best you could, but the drive to the tropical place was a short one, and soon he was pulling into a parking space beside your parents. He took a breath, shot you another fake smile, then got out.

After you'd been seated and your orders had been taken, Baxter cleared his throat. The attention turned to him, and he began speaking.

"I have a bit of an announcement," he began. "I've been keeping it to myself until all the details were hammered out, but now I can share: I'll be headed east to start college in the fall. Virginia, to be precise. For a degree in business."

Your mothers were quick to congratulate him -- he'd become like a third child to them, so it was natural they'd be proud. Lee clapped her hands together, and Liz even joined in, but you just stared at him in shock.

You'd talked about your future plans, of course, and you knew Baxter was going to college but you assumed it would be somewhere nearby. Moving across the country was something someone would discuss with their best friend, but he'd kept you completely in the dark. It hurt.

Baxter answered your family's questions and thanked them for their support, but then he turned to you. You shared a look for a moment.

"If you'll excuse me, I believe I'd like to stretch my legs for just a moment before dinner arrives," he said, standing. He looked down to you, and held out his arm. "Care to join me?"

Without a word, you took his arm once again and followed him to the entrance.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," he said quietly, leaning in to speak to you. "If I'm being honest, I didn't know how."

"So you thought it would have been best to tell me like this? When do you even leave, in a month?"

"Three weeks," he corrected. You scoffed.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, grasping your hands and pulling them up to his chest. "I truly am. If there was a way I could stay, I would, and I have to believe you know that. I don't want to leave you, I need to leave them."

His parents. That was the reason for the cross-country move. He was running away.

There was something about his closeness, his hands gripping yours close to his heart that became too much. You loved him, and he was leaving. And as long as his parents lived in the area, you doubted he'd ever want to come back.

"I have to go," you said, pulling your hands back. He began to say something, but you raised your hand to stop him, then left the restaurant.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes and decided to take a seat in your mom's car to have a moment to yourself. You unlocked the back door with a shaky hand and climbed in, then let everything out.

Baxter had been there for over half your life at this point. His presence was a constant, something you could always count on. You'd spent countless days together, and so many nights after he started sneaking in your window for impromptu sleepovers when he couldn't stand being in his own house anymore. You couldn't imagine things being so different.

After a bit, you steadied your breath and wiped your face. When you felt steady enough, you moved to get out, but then you spotted a flash of black and white illuminated by a streetlight.

There was Baxter, leaning against the trunk of his car, waiting for you.

You couldn't help but smile, and at that moment he turned back and caught your eye. He gave a cautious smile back, then tapped on the window.

"Care for some company?" he asked when you opened the door.

And so he crawled in the backseat with you, and before you could say anything, he had his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. He laid a kiss on top of your head, then rested his cheek there.

"I'm not going to be gone for good," he told you. "And honestly I'm a little ashamed of myself if I've let you believe you could get rid of me this easily."

"You're going to be on the other side of the continent, Baxter."

"I'll visit you. You'll visit me. We'll have summer breaks." He kissed your head again and pulled you even closer, then said, "It's four years, darling. You're stuck with me for a lifetime."

You snuggled into him, basking in his affection. He wasn't always this sweet, finding it more comfortable to joke and tease, but in moments like these, it was harder not to fall more deeply in love with him.

A few more minutes passed in comfortable silence, then you told him that you'd better get back to the restaurant. He agreed, and you stepped out of the car. Just before you got to the door, he stopped and turned to face you.

"There is one more thing I feel the need to say," he started. "Something I should have told you long ago."

Taking a look at his expression, you got nervous. He was about to tell you something serious. His expression was hard to read, but when you saw his eyes dart down to your lips, you stopped him.

"We better get going," you said, stepping toward the doors. "Maybe we can talk about this another time."

Baxter looked at you a moment longer, swallowed, then smiled.

"Yes. Another time."

[thoseboysinblue]

My Type

Part 1

Christian Pulisic x reader

You have a chance encounter with Christian, who happens to be just your type.

Word count: 2700+

Requested: No

Warnings: Swearing, drinking

Thanks to the girlies in the gc for the inspiration 😘

You spent the day lounging on the beach in Miami sipping on drinks, reading, listening to music and enjoying some much needed downtime for your friend, Ella's, bachelorette party. After your day in the sun, you and your friends had all returned to the beach house you were renting for the weekend to get ready for your night out. It promised to be an interesting night based on the theme of "dress like your type" chosen by the bride-to-be.

You were thankful that you would be able to dress casually and let your hair down a bit, pulling on some cutoff shorts and your favorite sneakers. Although your friends had no idea who he was; Christian Pulisic embodied your type, brown hair, brown eyes, soft spoken and athletic. Topping your outfit off with his jersey, you finished curling your hair and applied a final coat of lip gloss and mascara before you joined the rest of the group.

A few more drinks and social media posts later, you all climbed into a minibus, ready to enjoy the Miami night life and celebrate your friend's upcoming wedding.

"I don't know man, can't we just stay here?" Christian asks, running his hand through his hair.

"No, come on, let's go into Miami, have a night out, blow off some steam," Nick pleads with him.

"Fine, yeah, whatever," he gives in, going into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

He's tired and isn't really in the mood for a big crowd, but he doesn't get to see his friends in the States that often so he obliges their request for a night out, hoping a few drinks will improve his mood.

They arrive at a night club, trying his best to keep a low profile, Christian directs them to a booth just off the dance floor and orders a round beers and shots for everyone.

Scanning over the sea of people on the dance floor, Nick nudges him and tilts his head in the direction of your group of friends, "they look like a fun bunch," he raises his eyebrows. Christian had already spotted you, noticing you were in a US soccer jersey, "interesting attire for a night club" he thought to himself as he waited patiently for you to turn your back to him so that he could see whose jersey you were wearing. His eyes widen and his heart rate increases slightly when you turn just enough for him to see "SIC" on your back.

You are enjoying yourself, dancing and drinking the night away with your friends, mostly ignoring anyone who approaches your group since you are more interested in your girls weekend than any random hookup. "I'm going to go get drinks," you shout over the music to Ella before turning to make your way through the crowd to the bar.

"I'll be right back" Christian says to Alec, noticing you leaving the dance floor and hoping to catch you at the bar.

You push your way through the crowd finding an open spot at the bar and waiting to catch the bartender's eye. Christian spots you, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees an open space next to you that he can squeeze into.

"Nice jersey, you a fan?" he says over the music. "Something like that," you say back, still trying to get the attention of the bartender until you turn to face whoever is speaking to you.

"Oh shit" you blurt out as you are met with a pair of dark eyes and a playful grin, dimples fully on display as you feel your cheeks flush.

"Hi" he chuckles, grabbing the bartender's attention, finally.

"Can I get a Michelob Ultra here, and whatever she's having, then send a round of beers to that booth over there, along with tequila bottle service," he asks, nodding towards you to order, "you can order for your friends too, if you want," he smiles at you, "just put it on my tab" he nods at the bartender.

"One vodka sprite and one vodka cranberry please" you smile, thanking him for the drinks.

"You could've ordered for the rest of your friends," he smiles at you. "I just came over to get something for me and the bride-to-be," you shrug, "I wouldn't expect you to get drinks for all of us."

"Ah, so it is a bachelorette party," he says offering you a lime for your drinks and picking up the vodka cranberry you had gotten for Ella. "Yeah, just here for the weekend," you say taking a sip of your drink and watching as he takes a swallow of his beer.

"I'm assuming there is a theme, or do you always go out dressed in jerseys?" he smirks, looking you up and down before catching the look on your face that didn't seem amused by his comment. "That didn't come out right, you look good, I swear, it's just not what girls around here usually wear on a night out," he tries digging himself out of the hole he's in, but you don't budge, keeping a straight face. "Fuck. I'm making this worse" he says as he rubs his hand over the back of his neck looking at you, his cheeks flushing.

"You finished?" you say, still no sign of amusement on your face.

"Thanks for the drink, but I don't think I'm what you came into this club looking for, Christian" you hold your hand out to take Ella's drink from him.

His pupils dilate slightly as he hears his name roll off of your tongue, "I'll take this to her," he looks at you, his demeanor definitely changed.

Christian notices that his group of friends has now joined in with your friends on the dance floor as you are making your way back to Ella, "fuck sake" he mutters to himself before plastering a smile on his face and offering Ella her drink along with his congratulations.

"It is a bachelorette party, man" Nick shouts over the music "dress like your type is the theme," he grins, grabbing one of your friends and spinning her around before he realizes what you have on, a Cheshire Cat grin on his lips. You stand there frozen, tempted to just leave without making eye contact with Christian again.

"What are the fucking odds" Alec chuckles elbowing Christian. He shakes his head at him, "don't, I've already fucked it up," he rolls his eyes at himself, watching as you slip away through the crowd.

"Hey, let your friends know I've bought beer and a bottle of tequila for our table over there, you guys can help yourselves and if you want anything else, just have one of them put it on my tab" he gestures towards Nick and Alec smiling at Ella before wandering over to the booth and sitting down.

You return to your friends on the dance floor, noticing that Christian seems to be watching you from his booth, averting his gaze every time you glance towards him. A smirk painted on your lips, you decide to give him a little show if he was going to stare all night. You dance sensually to the music, turning to give him a good view of your ass along with his name on your back, pulling your shirt up slightly in the heat of the packed dance floor, exposing your toned mid drift. You throw him a wink when you catch him staring, his lips slightly parted like he's in a trance.

"Come take a shot" Abigail shouts at you, grabbing your hand along with Nick's and pulling you over to the table where Christian is sitting having absolutely no idea that he is actually the man whose jersey you are wearing.

"What's your name?" she shouts at Christian, pouring shots out for the four of you. "Christian" he smiles catching on to the fact that she doesn't recognize him. "Why aren't you dancing?" she presses him, sliding a shot across the table to him. "Because he doesn't even want to be here," Nick answers earning a glare from Christian, "he'd rather be at home, being boring," he chuckles swallowing the shot back and turning to grab a lime. "So would, y/n, we always have to beg her to come out with us," she laughs before taking her shot. "Thanks for these" she grins at Christian before turning to pull Nick back to the dance floor.

"You gonna take that?" he nods towards the shot glass sitting in front of you as you sit down on the edge of the booth. "Are you?" you fire back at him. He nods, watching as you take the shot glass and hold it to your lips, pausing slightly to take a deep breath before taking it. You glance around looking for a lime, finding him holding one up for you between his fingers. He pulls it away when you reach for it, smirking as he offers it to you again, holding it up to your lips for you to take. You roll your eyes and pull the lime from between his fingers with your mouth, noticing the way he bites his lower lip when you do.

He takes his shot quickly, standing up and holding his hand out for you, "dance with me?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow at you. "Fine" you huff, placing your hand in his and allowing him to lead you out onto the dance floor.

"Y/N, is it?" he asks as you nod, turning your back to him as he places his hands softly on your hips.

"Tell me how this is your type," he says, pulling at the material of the jersey you're wearing. You grind your hips back against him, smirking when he groans and grips onto your hips a little tighter before you turn to face him wrapping your hands around the back of his neck. "Is it, actually me, or something else?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"I mean, I guess it's guys like you, dark hair, dark eyes, athletic, probably should throw some red flags in there too, since that seems to be what I attract, but no, not you specifically" you shrug at him.

"Well, no red flags here," he dips his head to speak directly in your ear, causing a shiver to run up your spine. "You sure about that?" you tilt your head back to look him in the eyes. "I guess that would depend on what you consider red flags," he grins at you.

"I know what I said earlier, came across wrong," he starts before you hold your hand up against his chest stopping him. "Don't worry about it, I wasn't actually upset, just wanted to make you squirm a bit," you say, the corners of your mouth tilting up slightly. "Well, I still want to explain my self," he says turning you back around so that your back is against his chest.

"It's actually nice to see someone dressed more casually on a night out, I like it, prefer it actually," he says, against the shell of your ear, his mouth dangerously close to your neck as you feel his warm breath fan across your face, "most girls around here come out specifically looking for one thing, but you don't seem that way."

You shake your head, "Do you really think I'd have worn your jersey if I thought there was a chance I'd run into you? I wanted the ground to swallow me up whole when I realized it was you standing next to me at the bar," you say, throwing your arm up and around the back of his head, pulling him closer to you so that he could hear you.

"I noticed you before I realized what you had on," he smiles against your neck inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume mixed with your shampoo.

"Is that so?" you ask, turning to face him as he nods, cheeks flushing a bit. "Yes, seems like you're my type, too" he winks.

"Would you like another drink?" he asks tilting his head towards the bar. "I think just a water, this time" you smile as he slips his fingers through yours, pulling you towards the bar. He orders both of you a water as you sit and chat realizing you have a lot in common with one another. "How long are you here until?" he asks. "All day tomorrow, and our flight is at 4 on Sunday," you smile at him.

The bartender calls last call and you watch as Christian closes out his tab. Abigail and Nick walking over to where you are. "Y/N, our minibus is on the way, it will be here in a few minutes," she says, eyeing Christian up and down as he slips his card back into his wallet. You nod at her and stand to leave, but feel Christian's hand slip loosely around your wrist giving you a little tug to get your attention. You turn to face him, standing between his legs, "nice to meet you, Christian," you smile, bringing one hand to the side of his face and leaning in to press a light kiss to his cheek.

"Yeah, it was nice to meet you too, y/n" he smiles nervously and it seems like he's holding something back. You offer him a smile, before turning to join the rest of the group assuming your chance encounter is over and that you will never see him again.

"Please tell me you got her number," Alec says to Christian as he watches you walk away. "Nope, didn't even get her last name," he says shaking his head at how stupid he's been. "Did either of you get any of their names so that maybe we can track them down?" he looks between them visibly frustrated when they both shake their heads.

As you crowd into the minibus, Ella, loops her arm around yours. "Who was the hottie you were with all night?" she giggles. "He was exactly my type," you sigh at her. "Well did you get his name?" she asks. "Didn't have to" you roll your eyes, opening up his Instagram profile and showing it to her. "Oh fuck, are you serious?" she stammers, clearly at a loss for words when you nod and bury your face in your hands.

"It's fine, not like I'll ever see him again" you shrug. "Oh, honey, the way he was devouring you with his eyes, that boy is going to be trying to track you down," she grins. "Well, it's gonna be tough, he only got my first name," you shake your head at her.

Taking matters into her own hands, Ella, tags him on one of the pictures she had posted earlier in the evening, hoping on an off chance he might see it along with your profile tagged.

Once he's home, Christian scrolls through his social media, clearing out notifications when sees that someone named Ella has tagged him on a picture. Surely not, he thinks to himself as he clicks on the notification, opening up the picture of you and your friends. He smiles to himself realizing that Ella must have added the tag recently in hopes of playing matchmaker after he presumes you'd told her who he is. He notices that you are also tagged, clicking on your name and finding that your account is private, his finger hovers over the request button momentarily before he pushes it and closes the app and goes to sleep.

The next morning you wake up, groaning when your head starts pounding as soon as you sit up. You get out of the bed and put your phone on the charger after you notice it's dead, before going in search of water and painkillers. When you return to your room, your phone turns on, and you hear several notifications come through. Assuming it's where your friends have tagged you in photos and videos from last night, you grab the phone and scroll through the notifications.

Your eyes widen in disbelief when one in particular catches your eye:

cmpulisic has requested to follow you

Part 2

@chelseagirl98 @neverinadream @masonspulisic @pulisicsgirl @swimmingismywholelife @lovelynikol16

[yelenasdiary]

Different Kind of Love || Part VII 1/2

Pairing: CEO! MobBoss! Natasha Romanoff x Assistant! Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Working for Natasha was never easy and being a low-level assistant for the CEO wasn’t where you thought you’d be after working your hardest for 2 years. After catching you in tears on Christmas Eve, Natasha’s cold ways start to warm up.

Dark Themes | Language Warning | DARK! Natasha | Mentions of Blood | Unwanted Attention | Mentions of Vomit | 2.2K | 

Notes: Dylan’s dialog is meant to sound like how a 5-year-old would talk and his nickname is Dyl and not a misspell.

Different Kind of Love Masterlist

"You'd want to hope Kane hurry's up, I'm getting a little impatient" Matt winked at you as you sat on the sofa with your hands tied together, "What do you want? Please, just tell me!" Your mind racing with thoughts of Dylan at home alone, hoping Natasha got your message. "I'm just helping out a friend, Kane just wants to see that kid of yours and I? well, I just want to take a moment to remember that night we shared" Your stomach turned at his intentions. The front door to what you assumed was Kane's cheaply rented apartment by the lack of furniture and the moldy smell coming from the walls, opened and slammed shut.

"About time man! What took you so fucking long?!" Matt put out his cigarette before turning around. "Sorry, I was busy" a familiar voice entered the room before the loud sound of a gun behind fired. Matt dropped to the floor, a clean shot to the middle of his forehead. You screamed at the scene as blood pooled around him. 

"Y/n, shhh" Natasha put her weapon away and rushed to you, "it's okay" she added when your repetitively said no over and over with your eyes closed. "It's me, it's Natasha" she cuts your hands free from the rope with her pocketknife. "YOU JUST KILLED HIM!" You jumped away from Natasha in shock. "I know, I know, but it's okay" she tried to calm you as you started to hyperventilate, "Y-YOU SH-SHOT HIM! WHAT THE FUCK!" You couldn't look at her. 

"I'm going to give you a moment" Natasha watched as you paced with your eyes closed while you processed what just happened. "Wh-where's Dylan?! Where's my son!?" You shot your eyes wide at Natasha, "He safe, he's okay. He's at my condo, I promise you he's okay" she assured you, she didn't blink once. Your eyes dropped mistakenly to the floor where Matt's lifeless body lay in a pool of his own blood cause a mouthful of vomit to find its way on the floor beside him. "What the hell is going on?!" you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand, "he was right, wasn't he?! Kane, he was right, you –"

"Yes. I'm not going to lie to you, this isn't how I wanted you to find out" she interrupted. 

"Find out what?! Natasha you just MURDERED SOMEBODY!" You started pacing again to keep from throwing up again, "oh my god, you're going to go to jail, you're a lawyer and you just killed him!" 

"Y/n, look at me, just for a second" Natasha came over to you and placed her hands on your shoulders, stopping you from pacing as you looked at her. Tears filled your eyes and you felt sick to your stomach, "keep your eyes on me, don't worry about what's around you. Just listen to me" Natasha's voice oddly started to make you feel calm as you kept your eyes on her just like she said. "Good, now, I know what I'm about to say isn't what you want to hear but I want you to know I would never, ever hurt you or Dylan" Tears streamed from your eyes at the mention of your son's name. 

"I don't care what you want to call it but I'm a part of a mafia, I run one. That's where I go when I randomly take off and yes, I had one of my men to abduct Kane. That man on the floor, he worked for me, and I had no idea he was going to do this to you, I swear to you. I would never put you or Dylan in danger. 

When you said that Kane was stalking you, the fear in your eyes told me that he had to be taken care of. Hearing your story, what he did to you, what he has continued to do, made my blood boil. I've never let anybody see me the way I've let you in Y/n. You're my best friend and I love you and Dylan like family. On Christmas eve when you were crying because I selfishly kept you late for my own pathetic needs, I saw a scared young woman who just wanted to be with her son and when you introduced me to little Dylan, I knew I had to do something to keep you both safe. 

It's not ideal for you, I know and it's scary, I know, and I understand if you never want to see me again but swear on my entire life, you're my best friend and I'd never hurt you, ever" 

You listened carefully to Natasha, she was right, it was crazy and scary but with every word that left her lips you became calmer. Her tone was honest and looking into her eyes you could see she wasn't lying to keep you from freaking out again. "D-did you k-kill him? K-Kane, is he?" You had to ask. 

Natasha shook her head, "No. he's still at my bunker" she answered honestly.

"Is he injured?"

"Yes, he's missing finger and he has two bullet wounds"  

"I c-can't believe t-this! Natasha, I let you into my life, my son's life!" you shook your head with your eyes closed, "Are you going to kill him?" You looked back at her trying to ignore the sick feeling in your stomach. "I want too" Natasha nodded, "because I know if he's gone for good then you and Dylan and finally live life without fear, that's all I want for you both. You deserve that" she adds. 

"Natasha, you're a damn lawyer! You know how this should've happened, the legal way, the right way!" You took a step back from her, finding it hard to believe all the information you just received. 

"The right way? Y/n he'd get a few years at the most and then he'd right back to stalking you and Dylan again. He doesn't care about anything; he just wants Dylan. That's why he had this prick take you" Natasha frowned slightly, she was right, you knew she was right. The justice system wasn't going to protect you from Kane forever. "I need to see Dylan, now" you looked at Natasha who nodded, "okay" she replied softly. 

----

Your eyes landed kindly on your son as he played with the man who took your victim statement, completely unaware of the world around him. Driving his plastic trucks along the make-believe track, tears filled your eyes at how peaceful he looked. "Come on Bucky! The building is on fire we have to save the people!" He raced his fire truck to the imaginary building as Bucky's toy truck followed, "let's do this big boss!" Bucky smiled softly as if he could see the images in your son's mind. 

"Y/n" Natasha's voice broke your attention, moving your eyes to glance at her for a moment. "I don't want to hear it Natasha, please. I just want Dylan and to go home" Tears streamed down your face once again, the entire idea of what Natasha did on the side for a living made your stomach turn. You couldn't look at her, not after everything she just told you. "Stay here for the night, it's late and he probably hasn't had dinner yet. I'll have my driver take you both home first thing in the morning" Natasha suggested, her tone had a promising ring to it making it harder for you to stay upset with her. 

"We'll get an uber" you turned to her.

 "I know you're ma-" 

"Not here, not in front of Dylan. I need some time to process all of this, alone" you frowned even though you were raised with well manners it burnt your tongue with the words that left your lips, "he'll have some dinner, I'll make it and we'll be off to bed. I just can't be around you right now Natasha" you explained. Natasha nodded, pain in her eyes from knowing she'd probably lost you, her first real best friend and she managed to screw it up. 

"Bucky" Natasha turned to the boys playing, Dylan's eye lit up at the sight of you. "Mommy!!" he ran into your arms, hugging you tighter than he's ever hugged you. "Aunty Nat found you!!" he smiled widely while looking at you, "She did. Were you a good boy for, I me-"

"James, or Bucky or Bu-"

"She gets it" Natasha interrupted, giving Bucky a look to say stand down. 

"Bucky and I were being firefighters! He can make a really cool water splashing sound and he fixed my truck with the broken door!" Dylan boosted; it was as if he completely forgot about his mother being abducted right in front of him. "Wow honey, it sounds like you had plenty of fun" you smiled softly at his baby face before kissing his cheek, "what do you say to James?" you added without looking at either Bucky or Natasha. 

"Thank you, Bucky, for playing with me!" Dylan turned slightly and smiled at the man in the black suit, "anytime little dude! Let me know if any of your trucks get a stiff door or a wheel falls off, I'll be happy to fix it for you little man" Bucky returned the smile before excusing himself out of Natasha's condo. "Sounds like you had lots of fun with Bucky! Are you ready for some dinner?" Natasha turned to Dylan with a soft smile as he nodded quickly. Her smile only made your stomach turn, for Dylan's sake you had to play nice with Natasha. 

Dylan had mashed potatoes, veggies and some chicken nuggets for dinner. He told you all about his moment of playing with Bucky while getting BBQ sauce all over his face as you and Natasha tried to keep things as normal as you could. Your mind flooding with thoughts of Kane and where Natasha was keeping him, what she'd done or was still doing to him, every thought only made the lump in your throat worse. 

"I think it's time for bed, honey" you looked over to Dylan once he finished his dinner, his eyes were heavy as he looked up at you and shook his head. "I'm not tired mommy" he pouted trying his best to have you believe his words. "How about mommy reads you a story and tuck you in?" you suggested quickly earning yourself a light nod. Dylan slid off his chair and walked up to Natasha with open arms. "Good night aunty Nat" he hugged her tightly, "Goodnight Dyl, have a good sleep" Natasha hugged him as her eyes slowly looked up at you knowing this might be the last chance she'd get to hug her favorite little friend. 

"Come on honey, let's get you to bed" you spoke after a few moments, Dylan letting you scoop him up into your arms before taking him to the room he'd be sleeping in. 

"Mommy?" Dylan looked at you as you tucked him in, kissing him on the cheek. "Yes, darling?" you asked as you sat on the edge of the bed with a book full of children's stories. "I'm sorry I punched that man. I thought he was hurting you" he said as you brushed his beautiful curls with your finger, "You are my big brave boy! I'm not mad at you baby, I'm so proud of you" you couldn't help but place a kiss on his forehead. 

"Did he hurt you mommy?"

"No honey" you shook your head hating that your little boy was asking questions that he should never have to worry about. "Why did he take you mommy? I thought you were lost forever" Tears filled your son's eyes as he looked at you with worry. "Oh honey" you made yourself comfortable beside him, snuggling him. "You're never going to lose me; he just took me away to have a talk but he's never going to bother us again" you assured him as you wiped his tears. "Do you promise mommy?" Dylan looked at you, "I promise baby, now, its time for bed! Somebody might be seeing Grandma and Grandpa soon" you hinted with a soft smile. Dylan's face lit up at the mention of his grandparents, "When? I can't wait! I miss them!" He boosted. "You have to get some sleep first then I'll tell you all about it" you kissed his cheek once more as you opened up the storybook. 

----

Hours past and you couldn't bring yourself to move from Dylan's side as he was fast asleep. His questions pondering through your mind as you tried to process everything that had happened, and the news Natasha told you. It wasn't long until memories of that night came floating back. The look on Kane's face when he ignored your cries for him to stop, begging him to not take advantage of you like he did, saying no over and over unable to fight him off. 

You thought about your life since that night, from finding out you were pregnant, telling your parents, Kane finding out, giving birth, and always feeling like your life was on the run from Kane. His face flashed through your mind as you came to a decision. 

Natasha was on the rooftop downing a scotch and a cigarette while looking over the city from afar, puffing on her toxic tabaco as if the world she life never bothered her. 

"Natasha" you spoke softly from behind, she looked over her shoulder as she put out her cigarette and turned to face you, "What did you decide?" she asked clenching her jaw.

Taglist: @marvelogic | @randomnessbecausewhynot | @blackwidow-3 | @lilsmeaux | @mmmmokdok | @wandanats-goodgirl | @toouncreativeforausername | @agent99galanzo | @marvelwomen-simp | @its-just-geek | 

[expired-applejuice]

Based on:

Dark paradise by Lana Del Rey

Grantaire takes the bullets.

Enjolras pretends to be shot but he was spared. No words were spoken. None could be. Grantaire was choking on his own blood, while Enjolras was trying to keep his sobs quiet. Still they had a conversation. Grantaire smiled, holding Enjolras hand. Enjolras kissed his head while squeezing his hand tightly. He felt useless as Grantaire slowly died in pain.

When the women came to clean, one, who resembled Grantire, found him still clinging on his hand whispering a tearful apology. She too started to weep and helped the young leader up, pulling him into a silent hug. Enjolras apologized for getting blood on her dress, but she said not to mention it.

Days later Marius found the leader in the abandoned Cafe setting in a chair. The place was empty besides the furniture and two school boys. Marius sat across from him. He took note of Enjolras's bloodshot eyes, and his tear stained face. He held a tight grip on his handkerchief as he stared off into the room. He no longer wore his red coat, nor was his hair at his shoulders. No, he wore a black trench coat that was buttoned, with his hair pulled back into a low ponytail.

Marius looked no better with his bullet wound, broken bones, and shattered heart. Cosette, who took care of him, said he had gain some color back but was still awfully pale. His hair seemed to darkened, and he felt like he aged 20 years. He wasn't sure if he was alive without a soul, or just lost.

"What are we to do now?" Enjolras's weak voice broke Marius from his thoughts. He looked back at the blonde, who was still staring into space.

"I'm not sure, brother," Marius answered as they fell back into their silence.

After a sad sigh, Marius turned to the door. He haft expected their friends to walking into the door laughing. He waited for it, but they never came.

Enjolras found that he missed their laugher the most. The roar of it after one of Combeferre's remarks. The not so hidden chuckles when Bossuet trips. The gleeful victory "haha"s when Bahorel or Grantaire won a sparing match. The sneaky snickers that accured when a prank was being played. Their smiles. Their voices. Their presence. Them.

Feuilly always worked hard. Harder than any other in Paris. Joly was so compassionate and helpful to everyone. Jehan Prouvaire was simply a bright star that always helped them get through rough patches. Bahorel would always have your back in the best and worse way. Courfeyrac could influence anyone to do anything, but was still respectable. Combeferre, with his smarts could outwit a sly fox. Bossuet could give some of the best hugs. Grantaire, as much as he hid it, would have done anything for the group. Oh and how could he forget Gavroche? The little guy had more spirit in him than any of them. And poor Eponine, she was tougher than any of the national guards' men.

Enjolras spent so much time on the revolution that he had no idea who or what he was without his friends and movement. Really he didn't want to remember who he was, because it wasn't. It was not him. Not anymore.

"Their funeral is tomorrow," Marius reminded him still looking at the door.

Enjolras finally pulled his eyes towards Marius, "Yeah. Musichetta promised to help cook the food."

"That's nice."

"Yes, and Montparnasse promised to help Bury them."

"I'm thankful for him," Marius looked at him, "How's Grantaire's sister?"

Enjolras looked down at the table, "She saying it wasn't my fault. I'm just glad she agreed to move in with me, you know? With out Grantaire she probably wouldn't be able to make rent."

Marius nodded.

A few months later, Enjolras walked to the graveyard. He said hi to each of his friends, and even Javert, placing a flower on each stone. He stopped at Grantaire, sitting by his headstone in the snow. The blonde, who wore a green heavy coat, pulled out a bottle of wine and placed it by his stone.

"Marius' wedding is today," He said out loud, "I just got back from the tailors. I'm honored to be his best man."

The wind blew into his face making a roar in his ears. It was freezing, but Enjolras didn't leave, "We've helped each other a lot in these past few months, Marius, your sister, Musichetta, Montparnasse, and I. Talked a lot about old times. It's been hard."

Snow started to float softly down around him. It was beautiful and peaceful. "People say we should move on, past the revolution, love, and friendship. They tell us to forget the songs and memories."

Enjolras laid down in the snow, feeling as numb as his legs. He looked at the sky, "Sometimes I close my eyes, you lot are still here. You're drinking your wine. Courf' and 'ferre are talking about something Courfeyrac said to get Combeferre heated up. Joly and Bossuet are talking about Bossuet's soup he made for him. Jehan, Feuilly and Bahorel are singing a song. And 'Poni and Gavroche are happy. I feel save in this place behind my close eyes."

"That's when it scares me. It scares me because when I go to join you one day, will I see you? Will I be punished for causing this to happen? Will you guys want to see me?" Tears fell from the corners of his eyes making his face colder.

He closed his eyes and he was still there, everything was the same. The only difference was Grantaire laying beside him, holding his hand, "Red, you say the stupidest things. We're waiting for you guys."

"Are you really here?"

Grantaire smiled sadly, "I love you Apollo."

Enjolras opened his eyes and he was alone.

"I love you too, Icarus."

[gurugirl]

hey babes! i hope this is okay! maybe cop!harry and the reader are in the same area and she’s out with some friends at a bar and he just got off of a late shift and needed a drink (him and his wife are fighting about him wanting a divorce) but he sees y/n in https://pin.it/3VULLvs and he’s a sucker for pleated skirts and pigtails. y/n knew she looked hot and she wore it with confidence. but anyways, y/n is on the dance floor with some friends and they’re just having some fun, when a guy comes up behind her and they start dancing and having fun. ofc harry can’t say or do anything because he’s a familiar face around there. but maybe she goes back to her table for a drink refresher (they’re in the back of the club) and harry follows her. the light setting is dark since it’s a club but harry sets y/n in his lap so she can feel how hard he is. and it doesn’t help that she’s not wearing panties. and he gets super jealous and starts sliding his cock in. her friends come back for a few minutes and chat with her and harry. he stated she was a bit tipsy and couldn’t keep her balance so he was holding onto her to keep her steady. he shifts a few times just to move inside her. and when they finally leave he starts f*cking her. and she tells him to stop bc there are people around. and he’s so condescending about it, but it makes her so wet and he uses that to his advantage. and she locks eyes with someone and cums on the spot. and he can’t stop being condescending about it and saying how she’s a show off, etc. i’m sorry i’m not trying to take over this blurb request lmao

A/n: HI ANON! Once again, obligatory apologies for taking so long to get to this! SORRY! But here it is! Hope you enjoy! 1.5k words

Warning: SMUT - exhibitionism kink (public sex), degradation

cop!harry masterlist

You had moved to London and into a small apartment with Harry that he had begun renting when Gillienne kicked him out. It wasn’t much but it was nice to be with the man you’d fallen in love with. But the big problem was that he was still going through a terrible divorce and you needed to keep your relationship on the down low for a bit longer. Just until things settled with his divorce. He didn’t want to add more fuel to the fire and get into more trouble than he had.

He wasn’t going to lose his job for cheating on his wife or going through a divorce, but it still looked bad and his boss needed the issue to be kept as quiet as possible. So, you two never got to really go out and enjoy your time together as a couple.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t go out with your friends. Now that you lived in London you got to see your friends regularly again.

And tonight, you were letting loose. Harry had a late shift and you probably wouldn’t see him until the next morning.

Dressed in a cute little plaid skirt and crop top, knee-high socks, and pigtails, you were asking for trouble. You just knew if Harry saw you he’d bend you over his knee and spank you. But maybe part of you hoped he’d see you out with your friends looking adorable and slutty.

The dance floor was packed with sweaty bodies. You were a tiny bit tipsy but you were just having fun. When one of your guy friends came up behind you and started dancing you just lifted your arms and swayed your hips. Everyone was laughing and singing along to the songs playing.

But what you didn’t know was that Harry had finished his shift and he and his co-worker stopped at the bar for a drink after their long day. At that point, the bar was clearing out a bit, but you were still dancing with all your friends. And looking super cute while you did it.

When the bartender shouted ‘last call’ you made a beeline to the bar to get yourself sparkling water to rehydrate and catch your breath. You took a big gulp and gasped at how thirsty you were.

Suddenly a large hand wrapped around your arm and pulled you away from the bar. You shot your head in the direction of the offender and realized it was Harry. He was frowning as he dragged you to a booth table in the corner and pulled you into his lap. He leaned your back into his chest and put his mouth to your ear, “What the fuck are you doing out looking like this, and dancing with other guys, Y/n?” He knew you were with your friends but it still didn’t make him happy to see you with your tiny skirt while another guy danced behind you getting a view of what was his. Sometimes he was a bit too jealous for his own good. But you liked it.

You grinned and turned your face to see the man and you wiggled your bottom over him, “Just having some fun. Those guys are my friends. You don’t need to worry.”

Harry looked around to make sure no one saw you two as he nudged you upward. You looked behind yourself to see that Harry was unbuckling his pants. He pulled at your hips to have you sit back down over him and you could feel his erection laying against your bottom. You were wearing a skimpy thong and your skirt covered up Harry’s lap and what he was about to do.

“I don’t care if they’re your friends. Look at this,” he slid his fingers under the crotch of your panties and lifted his shiny fingers, “you’re all wet, baby. That’s only for me.”

Harry shifted himself and pushed you forward as he dragged the thin cotton material from your panties to the side and pushed his bulbous crown into your wet hole, “Mmm… it’s only yours. You know that,” you moaned as you settled back into his lap fully with his cock inside of you, “I only got wet once I realized you were here anyway. I can’t get wet for anyone but you.”

Harry huffed and began to rock into you. You were slick on his cock as Harry had one hand around your waist, holding your back close to his chest and his other hand he held the back of your neck, “I know. My little slut only gets wet for me…” Harry groaned in your ear and you put your palms flat on the table in front of you as you started to get knocked upward at his thrusts. The dark corner was perfect for what you were doing.

When one of your friends approached after finally spotting you she looked relieved, “There you are! I was so… oh? I uh… sorry!” She hesitated when she realized you were sitting on a cop’s lap. Harry was in full uniform of course.

“She was very tipsy, and couldn’t stand straight. Just trying to keep her from falling,” Harry spits out fast. But your friend gives you both a look that says she’s not quite buying it but she smiles at you as you nod and she leaves you be. All of your friends already knew you were living in London with a cop. They knew the story so there wasn’t any hiding the truth from them. It was clear you were getting fucked (or something close) in the corner of a bar by the cop you’d told them all about.

Harry began to rail into you harder once the coast was clear. Your moans and soppy noises were all covered up by the loud people in the bar and the music in the background. The music had been turned down quite a bit after the last call was done. Harry kept you held close to his body, his arm holding you tight to him, his cock lodging deep into your guts, your pussy making a big mess on the front of his pants.

You roll your eyes to the back of your head when he starts kissing your neck. Soon enough, you two won’t have to act like you’re strangers. You’ll be able to be out in the open, but for now, fucking in dark corners is risky but fun. Probably not wise.

“I’m gonna fill you up so that when you go back to your friends you have to clench to hold it all in. You will only be able to think of me for the rest of the night.”

You reach your hand down under your skirt and begin to rub your clit. Your mouth is hung open at the feel of Harry’s thick cock stuffed so deep inside of you and your fingers running over your clit are also petting over the base of his shaft as he thrusts up into you.

“Can I come too? Please?” You pant out your words and Harry grunts and bites your earlobe.

“Little slut wants to come, does she? Like being fucked in public in front of all your friends? You’re a little showoff aren’t you? Yeah? My little whore wants everyone to see her tiny skirt and wants to come in public?” Harry’s thrusts were harsh and deep. He couldn’t pull out to the tip like he normally would when fucking you because it would be too noticeable. But the way you were being fucked was delicious and lewd and so deep.

“Yes! Please! I’m your whore and I just want to come on your cock,” you turned your face so you could speak toward Harry as he moaned softly and you felt his body tense up behind you.

“Come, then. Get off on my cock like a slut. Fuck!” Harry’s last word was a shout and was rather loud as he began pouring into you.

You felt his cock twitching and releasing inside of your body as you fell apart on him. You bit your lip to keep quiet, your juices gushing out around him and onto the vinyl seat below.

Harry laughed and kissed your neck as he moved you off of him once you stopped clenching and pulsing around him, and he straightened your thong back out to cover your drippy pussy, “Always so messy for me. Since day one. Aren’t you?”

Your chest was still heaving and your cheeks were pink and hot as you nodded at him, “You make me so messy, Officer. I can’t help it.”

Harry looked around again and pulled you back to him by the back of your neck and kissed your lips. When he let go he had a big grin on his face and he shook his head, “That’s right. I make you all messy don’t I? See you soon?” You nodded as he walked toward the bar to pay his tab and you went back to your friends who were waiting for you to finish up whatever it is you and the cop were doing in the dark corner. You and Harry both left the bar at different times with different people even though you were both going back to the same flat. You couldn’t wait to show off your man to the world once everything had settled. But until then, you were satisfied and happy to have him all to yourself.

Feedback/Thoughts | Support Me! | Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

Tags: @michellekstyles @ssaama @sombrioinvernoemveneza @golden-hoax @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @yousunshineyoutempter @the-gardener-31 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @dancinsunflowerkiwi @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @harrys-foxy @dirtytissuebox @closureesny @lhharrylilpumpkin @evelynlarue @chaptersleftunwritten @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysmimi @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lllukulele @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @anothermannharry

[clochanamarch]

👀 // heehee hoohoo

send in 👀 to hear what aisling would say about your muse to another person. ( ACCEPTING! )

it's been six months since alec left. what a pleasant way to describe it. like he just handed in his resignation and went to portugal for his early retirement. not like he broke her heart and turned against the tiny shard of MI6 that remained good at their core. six months. and if you include the period of determined denial, it's really nine.

high time to do something about it, then. she hands in her resignation, packs her bags, and gets to work. every single location the two of them ever visited on missions. the sites of highly important government officials who owed him favors. past safehouses, places close to his heart. she tracks every single one of them down, and records everything. photos, notes, recordings, footage, all documented meticulously. no disguises. just aliases. anna jenkins. alice jennings. allison james. aliases that cling to the truth and lure him in like breadcrumbs. only he's much too clever to fall for something so indiscreet.

it's what she wanted. a loyal recruit sent to figure her out, desperate enough to prove himself that he might get a little... excited. and he does. he takes a metal pipe from a construction site, follows her into the dark apartment, arm raised to strike. and then she emerges from behind him, slams her heel into the back of his knee, and cracks her elbow against that spot between the neck and the base of the skull.

when he wakens, enraged by how easily he was taken down, she's got him cuffed to the shower, door closed and leaving a grimy pane of glass between them. " scream. go on. you have five seconds, then we need to get back on track. you were a little easier to handle than i expected. "

" you think he doesn't know where i am?! "

" no, babe, i know he does. it's what i'm counting on. i just need you to deliver a message for me. " she lowers herself to sit on a soft velvet stool. the second he opens his mouth, she twists around to pull the toilet chain. instantly, ice-cold jets of water spit from the shower head, dousing him as a stifled yelp leaps from his open mouth. " yeah. shit plumbing. explains the low rent, though, huh? anyway. the message. i want you to tell alec that i left. i'm no longer working for MI6. and i want a meeting. "

" the two of you are actually certifiable. why the bloody FUCK can't you just go be with him?! or leave him alone?! what's this bullshit of turning the world into a fucking chessboard?! "

" not an MI6 man, then? not CIA, not by the inability to follow orders. so an independent mercenary. makes sense. see, here's the thing, tom. you join something like MI6, or the CIA, and you learn a code. brotherhood is a sweet name for it. loyalty. but in the end, it's just blind faith. just assuming they give you the correct information, the truth, the honesty that you're obligated to give them. alec saw it way before i did, probably since before i ever got involved. i suppose... ever since we'd met, he'd been protecting me. he'd take the kill shot so i could go home with clean hands. he'd hold me when the nightmares had me caught. he went through so much just to keep me safe. it took me ages to see it. the lies, the deceit, the amount of times we were fucking abandoned. when i got the call from felix, he urged me to go. so then i was the one who abandoned him. he had to endure it all alone. when i'd come back, it was like watching him disappear bit by bit. you know what that does, tom? to a person? to watch the love of their life fade and transform and emerge completely different? "

" ...this is who he's always been. "

" doesn't matter. either he lied to me for all those years in the field, in the cabin, in our bed, or he's lying to me now. either way. the lies end here. tell him, tom, because i know he's enroute, i know it's only a matter of minutes. tell him to meet me in the cabin. alone. he knows better, after all. hallowed ground, if you like the religious metaphor. "

" i don't. "

" tough shit. " she yanks the toilet chain on the way out, and another onslaught of ice cold water hits him, causing a shriek to serenade her on her way out the door.

[zeldaelmo]

@tobythetrashyartist made awesome art for this story, more tomorrow!

Fair warning: Link is in a bad spot at the beginning of this, expect hints at alcohol abuse, bitterness towards religion, and general calloused thoughts.

Believe

Link drew his knees closer and pulled the thin blanket provided from the mobile home over his head like a hood. Maybe that would finally stop his teeth from clattering. He shot the ice-cold heater an equally harsh glare. So what if he didn't have the money to pay for electricity, were they going to let him freeze to death? 

Cursing into the white air that his breath left behind, he rested his forehead on his knees, letting as little warmth as he could escape. 

Yeah. Yeah, they would let him freeze to death. Not here, of course. They would kick him out by the end of the week because he didn't pay his rent either. 

His dead phone sat on the edge of the moth-filled mattress, next to a list with a lot of names crossed out. He hadn't even asked for money, for heaven's sake, he had asked for a job!

“A temp job? Now? It's Christmas, honey. Ask again after New Year."

Woohoo, Christmas Eve, everyone's favorite day of the year. He grabbed for the bottle of cheap whiskey a kind soul had left at the door of each mobile home. The liquid lacked its typical golden shine in the dark. Link raised the bottle towards the window, so that the muddy city light filtering in illuminated it and tilted the bottle. Half-empty. 

Stiff fingers fought to twist the lid open. He raised the bottle to himself. "Merry Christmas, Link. May your wishes come true, this year." Snorting, he took a swig, the liquid tingling down his throat. Warmth. Finally some good old burning warmth. He lifted the bottle again, the glass scraping against his chapped lips. The strong, cheap smell promised a quick knockout. He hadn't properly eaten in days, maybe he could even leave the rest for tomorrow.

In the distance, the bells of a church rang for the first evening mass. Link wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Not even in this God-forsaken place, they would leave him alone. As if praying had ever solved anything.

The bottle nearing his lips again, he paused. Those bastards kept their churches warm, right? It was probably the only open public space tonight with everything else closed. Maybe… Barking a laugh at himself, he put the whiskey down. Just look at him, seeking God's warmth like a lost sheep. Well, he had never cared much where his money came from, he would surely not make an exception for a warm evening. 

He gathered his phone and the charger; who knew if God's endless goodness hadn't led to an unsupervised plug socket? Halfway through the door, he groaned and went back. Old habits die hard, no matter how low he was, he couldn't leave 'home' without brushing his teeth.

Outside, it was even more unruly. The thin layer of snow that had fallen yesterday had long turned into squishing mud with the texture of goo and the biting wind found every seam of his denim jacket. Most of the people didn't acknowledge his existence apart from the occasional 'accidental' shoulder bump. He didn't mind. Let them balance their shiny carryout bags home to a loving family, he was just fine without either. So what if nobody had been there to pick him up when he was finally — he stopped in front of a display window, rubbing his palm over his shaved head. It didn't matter. Nothing of all this mattered. The hair would grow back, everything was behind him now. 

Link buried his hands in his pockets and picked up his pace again. The closer to the cathedral he came, the more the people changed. Heels clicked and slithered on the cobblestone, men put their hands on their hats to keep them from becoming a victim of the wind. Maybe this had been a stupid idea.

He pulled his collar up, ducking his head. The guy in the woolen coat and the woman plus the little girl with matching dresses looked a lot like one of his former schoolmates. Was there a side entry, maybe? It was a freaking cathedral, there had to be more than one way in. 

His wet and numb feet carried him to the left… What was the word? Side aisle? Might as well. The door here was still sickeningly pompous, but only a quarter of the size of the front entry. Warily, he turned the doorknob. Oh. It moved. The door swung open, musty and damp air hitting his iced face. Well, it was warm, at least.

He couldn't see anyone else in the small corridor. Iron candle holders lined the stone wall and Link followed the direction of the music. Maybe he was behind the organ? 

It didn't matter that much. The warmth let his shoulders finally drop from their hunched position and the red skin on his fingers began to burn. He moseyed further along the corridor. He had no plans to join the worshippers, but an open door didn't necessarily mean he was welcome to stroll around. A night in a cell would postpone his hypothermia, but he had enough of that for the rest of his life.

The corridor opened to something like an aisle. It must have been upwinding; he was now above the main hall. Rattly, wooden chairs were piled up and in the corner, something big was stored under a canvas. Frowning, Link turned a chair over and sat down, backrest between his legs. Odd. There even was a cherub or some other kind of statue here, why did they use something like this as a storage room? 

All the better. If someone found him, he would say he came to pray to the… what was it? And… Did the statue glow?

He picked up the chair and sat down again directly in front of the figure. The glow was gone and he shook his head. Probably the whiskey. 

There was no badge or inscription, just a thick woman carved out of stone. His eyes were drawn to her smile. The statues of Jesus Christ or other saints he remembered from his childhood didn't smile — how could they when suffering was their main character trait? Why did she? Curious, he traced the smooth stone with his fingers. Her arms were crossed over each other in a praying position. To whom did she pay respect? Wasn't she a Goddess herself? Wings spread from her back, maybe she was just a forgotten angel. Like him. A bitter snort left him; more forgotten than angel.

He crossed his arms on the backrest and rested his chin on them, breathing the warm air. His shoes had begun to dry and even the muscles in his back slowly uncramped. The choir down in the main hall sang Christmas choruses but the sound was muffled enough that it didn’t bother him too much. If his stomach wasn't sour from hunger, it was almost nice. 

His eyes fell back on the statue. She smiled, unwavering. 

"Must be nice," Link said to the stone. "To be so happy all the time, I mean. Or are you smiling despite it all?"

He tore his mouth into a grin, a stale attempt at mirroring her. God, when was the last time he had smiled? 

"See? I'm bad at this. That's why you have cool wings and I just have a pair of worn-out sneakers." He wiggled his toes. "Wet and beyond cleaning, on top of that."

Sighing, he turned his attention back to the music. They probably offered some kind of shelter to people like him, a soup, maybe a place to sleep together in a room with others. It was Castle Town's biggest church, after all. 

The religious brainwashing was one thing, he could deal with that. The problem was that it wouldn’t be long before the Jasons and Jeffs and Johns would find him and hiss from the corner of their mouth what great deal they could make if only he lent them a hand. And before he could shake his head, he was neck-deep in trouble. No, he was better off alone.

The statue still gazed at him. Well, he couldn’t expect her to turn her head towards the music and make fancy dance moves. He felt… observed? No. Seen. He rubbed his forehead with two fingers. Of course, a statue of cold stone was the first who properly looked at him in years, sure, Link.

The organ down in the main hall of the cathedral boomed his thoughts out. The mass must be finished. 

Sighing, Link stood up and peeked down. Yes, the people were going home. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms — just when he was warm again. 

With a chuckle, he rested his palm on the arms of the statue. "Nice to talk to you. Maybe I'll stop by again. I really appreciate your ability to listen. Link is the name." He dropped his hand, lingering. He couldn't fight it, he didn't want to go. "I… I don't know if you do this prayer thing. But if I could ask for something…" He sighed again, rubbing his palm over his head. What was he doing here? "If… if I could ask for something it would be a new start. I… I don't really have anything to offer in return. Just a dry spell at the moment, I mean, I'll get over it, it's just… anyway. I gotta go before I get in trouble."

He made a few steps, went back to put the chair back, and disappeared as quietly as he had come. The door clanged shut behind him and he didn't look back. If he was confident enough, nobody would say anything. That always worked. 

The cold had him in a death grip a few steps into his way home. He pulled his shoulders up again and pushed forward. Maybe he could at least try to keep his feet dry, this time, or he would wake up with eight toes instead of ten. 

The shop windows became smaller and more shabby the longer he walked and soon, they lacked the glittering Christmas decorations, and old boxes and other rubbish clattered the space behind the glass. At the gate of the mobile home 'park', he had to squeeze himself past two street cats fighting over the content of a trash can. On his first week here, he had tried to befriend them, but all he got was a nasty bite that wouldn't heal. 

A faint light shone out of his window and he frowned with the key already dangling from his stiff-frozen fingers. Did they turn the electricity back on as a Christmas gift? He hurried. Now that would be something!

He pushed the door open and froze. The light didn't come from a lamp he hadn't switched off, it didn't even come from electricity at all. 

A woman stood in the middle of his room, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders to her hips. She turned toward him and the filigree jewelry that adorned her head and her dress jingled. Link shut his eyes, fingered for the door handle, and tugged it close. It had been hours since he had the whiskey and it hadn't been more than a few sips. One by one, he peeled his eyes open again. The most astonishing thing about her wasn't that she seemed to float or that faint glow that radiated from her, no. It was her smile. A smile he had spent two hours staring at. A smile that had made him feel welcome. A smile that was once again directed at him.  

"Good evening, Link." Her voice was more melodic than a summer breeze rustling through the leaves of a linden tree.

Link swallowed against his suddenly dry throat and stretched his hand out toward her, his words coming out as a whisper.

"Who are you?" 

[sixx-writes]

                               Room 208|Drifting III

Kurotsuchi Mayuri x Reader

Word Count: 3,350

cw: slow burn, dark content, future nsfw, modern au, surgeon!Mayuri, thief!reader, doctor kink, character death, suicide mention

AO3 Version | Masterlist

Summary: You and your partner decide to steal from a former surgeon who may not be all that he appears.

Pt. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Shiki's voice is background noise to you as your eyes drift off over his shoulder not bothering to make the effort of pretending to listen. You still felt the chill of steel pressing against your bare spine and the light caress of Mayuri's scalpel tracing over your skin. His 'operating room' was inside a delivery truck you'd passed a hundred times parked in the alley between the apartment building and a vacant space for rent.

Mayuri had promised if you tried to tell the police or anyone else what had happened he would make certain that you went down as well. Whether he meant prison or in several chunks on black market ebay you had no idea. You also harbored no doubts that he could and would keep that promise so you had no choice but to go on living in 207 like nothing had happened giving fake reports to Shiki on your progress with the surgeon.

A loud bang startled you from your thoughts and your attention snapped back to Shiki's annoyed expression. He had slammed his fist on the table like a caveman and it took everything in you not to throw your entire glass of soda in his face just to relieve some stress.

"What the fuck is wrong with ya? Ya look like your dog just fuckin' exploded or somethin'. Don't tell me. Did the doctor touch your special area?"

"Fuck you," you sneered with real anger, "why don't you just fucking grow up already."

You stood leaving your uneaten food behind and chair toppled in the middle of the floor while Shiki stared after you in mild confusion.

You hated this place, you hated Mayuri, and above all you hated yourself and what you'd become.

You'd fallen into depression after your father was shot. Murdered while dealing with a domestic dispute ending six years of his career serving as a policeman. After that you had spiraled starting with dropping out of school and concluding with you in juvenile detention.

In your absence your mother's mental state had continued to deteriorate unable to handle the loss of her husband and the day after your sixteenth birthday she overdosed on painkillers. The news had left you completely broken, you had begged and screamed to see her, knocking out the officer's tooth when he had tried to hold you back. You didn't remember much more after that as you'd needed to be sedated for the next several days until your hysteria settled.

The following months you were inconsolable and eventually you managed to escape. It was around that time that you met Shiki, only eighteen and already a master at pick pocketing and petty theft, he'd taught you the ways of the streets. After the first decent score the two of you had rented your first apartment and you had never known exhilaration like that could exist. Finally something was going right for you again.

It went on like that for a while, careful not to draw too much attention before moving on, and avoiding any yaluza owned businesses. Now at 26 years old, Shiki had approached you with a low risk high reward job involving a surgeon turned recluse that would set both of you straight for good. The two of you had planned to split the money and head off your separate ways once 'the big one' came along. An exit strategy into a normal life when the time was right.

Or that was how it was meant to go.

For some time now you'd had the growing suspicion that Shiki had no intention of giving up the lifestyle as he sunk deeper into it rather than trying to crawl his way out. He'd taken more of an interest in the yakuza and spoke as if he truly admired them instead of the loathing and distrust that you would have expected. Maybe it was because it was practically all Shiki knew, he was half your age when he was abandoned by his mother; a whore that he didn't remember the name of. His own name was given by the man that had found him in a cemetery asleep on one of the graves; 'Shiki', shortened from the word 'funeral', Soushiki.

It wasn't something that Shiki liked to talk about aside from how the man was a drunk and beat him sometimes until it became too much and he ran away. From the sound of it you couldn't help wondering if something worse hadn't transpired while Shiki was living with the man but it wasn't your place to force him into speaking on it. He had always done the same for you respecting your boundaries and not asking about your past.

Shiki may come off as an annoying dickhead, and most of the time he was, but he understood what lines shouldn't be crossed when it came down to it.

Instead of going home you'd wandered in a random direction with no particular goal in mind. It was something that you used to do more often before meeting Shiki. Anything to avoid going back to your room and him just yet. The sky was turning grey overhead by the time you reached an area of the city you weren't familiar with. Sex shops and other shady businesses infested the area, no doubt yakuza owned, and you tried to avoid eye contact with anyone that seemed dangerous. Or anyone at all really.

As you'd recently learned literally anyone could be a psychopath appearances be damned; including rich surgeons that secretly liked to collect body parts in jars.

Your stomach growled pathetically and you're reminded that you hadn't finished your meal back at the restaurant so you try to search for the least seedy food joint. You settle on a ramen shop with a hefty woman working the counter ordering yourself a bowl and savoring the rich broth chasing your hunger away along with a glass of shochu to wash it down.

It's getting late and you know your time delaying the inevitable is coming to an end. Begrudgingly, you pay for your food and leave the ramen shop behind just as the first rain drops fall on your head.

You considered several times to just go to your other apartment for one night to clear your mind but that meant seeing Shiki. It was unfortunate that you were petulant enough to choose going into a building where someone had tried to kill you to avoid an awkward situation. You sprinted across the hallway at the sound of the elevator doors dinging, key already in hand, not risking so much as a glance at 208.

Once inside you pulled off your jacket and shirt; it had rained almost the entire way back soaking you to the skin. You were slipping off your second shoe about to go for for your waistband when your focus shifted to the living room.

Mayuri was seated across from you, legs wide apart, one arm draped along the back of the sofa in the most casual way imaginable as if he hadn't broken in while you were out. It was the first time you'd seen him without a robe or some form of house clothes. Instead he was decked out in formal wear; a black dress shirt with the top buttons undone revealing a V of his slender chest and the sleeves rolled back to the elbow. It had came un-tucked from the tight pants that matched and you guessed he had gotten in a while ago growing more and more agitated when you didn't come home contributing to his disheveled appearance.

"Where were you?"

You didn't miss the accusatory tone behind the question.

"Around," you answered intentionally vague. You didn't want to give the satisfaction of letting him see how freaked out you were. The towel from when you'd washed your hair that morning still hung on the back of the second sofa where you'd tossed it, opposite of where Mayuri sat, and you grabbed it drying off your body not bothering to cover yourself. He'd already seen everything anyway. What did you care.

"Have you been drinking?"

"No."

 Yes.

The exchange was reminiscent of a disappointed parent whose daughter had stayed out too late. Just on the other side of almost normal. You didn't know why you bothered lying to him about what you'd been doing as if you gave a shit what he thought. All you wanted was a shower to warm yourself and to take a handful of pills to make you pass out for the next ten hours.

That was why you held onto the towel, dragging off your pants and stripping down to your bra and panties, wandering past Mayuri whose eyes narrowed but to your relief didn't try to stop you.

You locked the bathroom door, taking deep cleansing breaths trying to calm yourself, flicking on the light and going to unhook your bra when you noticed the man in your shower. You yelled in surprise pressing yourself back into the door fumbling for the handle. The man was clearly yakuza, his tattoos visible at the edges of his shirt, and had been dead for a little while; his throat slit and one of his eyes aimed off to the side in an odd direction.

Your fingers wrapped around the handle and you fell outside backwards stumbling right into Mayuri. The surgeon caught your wrists before you could do anything else while you kicked and yelled trying to break free. He'd had enough when you managed to land a lucky elbow into his stomach with all your thrashing and he snarled shoving you towards the couch.

You banged your knee painfully before landing on your side hyperventilating under Mayuri's annoyed glare.

"What.. what.. why..?" you were babbling senselessly. This was the first time you'd seen a dead body.

"Tch. That man was here for me. It was fortunate that he went into the wrong apartment. Nine years later and the small fry are still incompetent as ever."

"H-How did..?"

 How did you know he was here?

That was what you wanted to say but your mind was racing too fast for your mouth to keep up.

"I was waiting for you to return; there are matters that I needed to discuss with you. I saw that the door was open and let myself in. It seems it was the right decision wouldn't you agree?"

 Fuck.

Something else occurred to you that made your blood run cold, "Shiki. Oh, fuck."

Your phone was by the door and you scrambled for it, pulling it from your bag with trembling fingers, needing three tries to get it unlocked. You had new texts from him that he'd sent right after you'd stormed off out of the diner.

 S: U good?

 S: Sorry abt being a dick before ik alot of shit is bothering you I was just tryna cheer u up :(

A few hours passed before he texted again.

 S: Listen I'm gonna be late getting in today cause that yakuza guy just called and said he wanted to meet at that construction site something to do with the surgeon idk it could help us out

 S: If u need to get it off your chest we can talk when I get home if ur still up and maybe watch a movie or smth

 S: Anyway ttyls bitch <3

You stared and stared at the text until your gaze went through the screen unseeing and you gripped the plastic so tightly it creaked in your hand.

"What is it?"

Mayuri's voice came from somewhere behind you, close but barely audible over the roaring in your ears, and it snapped you into action. You pulled your wet clothes back on throwing your phone back into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. Maybe it was nothing but the familiar feeling in your gut was telling you otherwise.

The surgeon didn't try to stop you when you ran back out of the apartment not waiting for the elevator and taking the stairs two at a time until you were back outside. It was still raining as you sprinted for the cranes in the distance marking the construction site Shiki had mentioned. Their tall black skeletons rose taller the closer you got and you were completely out of breath by the time you reached the chain link surrounding the area.

You tossed your bag over first following not far behind as you climbed the fence dropping into the mud with a silent plap drowned out by the rain. You passed two black sedans as you moved deeper straining your eyes for any sign of Shiki and your blood turned to ice as the scene came into view. In the clearing amidst the buildings lit by the security lights you saw your partner. He had been beaten quite horribly already; bleeding from a cut over his eye and lower lip washed pink as the water ran in rivulets over his skin.

He was clearly exhausted sagged in the mud while three yakuza surrounded him from all sides positioned to prevent his escape. You didn't think he would even be able to walk right now let alone have any real chance of getting away.

The man in front of Shiki landed a viscous kick to his face after asking him something you couldn't make out, not happy with whatever he'd said.

You were paralyzed as the man landed a few more viscous kicks into Shiki's gut until he was coughing a mixture of bile and blood. The rain had almost stopped and you could make out bits and pieces of what was being said.

"...no one.." Shiki said earning him another kick, this time to his face. His nose was mangled beyond recognition from the abuse, his once handsome face turned ugly by brutality.

"..anyone else know..?" the yakuza was speaking again.

The tall muscular gangster easily dragged Shiki up by the hair until he was at eye level, too weak to grasp at the arm that held him, Shiki's face contorted in agony. You don't notice where the gun comes from when the yakuza pulls it out from somewhere inside his suit. All you see is the suppressor pressing into the hollow of Shiki's throat as the hammer is dragged back and the safety released.

 You should be doing something, right?

Shiki's body is like a rag doll; his body is flopping so unnaturally from side to side with the way the man is shaking him like he has no bones left. You realize it's because his legs are broken.

"..don't think..lying.." the farthest yakuza says something and the man holding Shiki agrees.

Shiki coughs and your heart breaks a little more at the wet rattling sounds behind it.

You can't feel the tears mixing with the rainwater on your cheeks.

Shiki manages to spit in the face of the bastard and it only causes him to grin entirely unphased by Shiki's defiance. He drops him into a crumpled heap before rolling him over with his foot and pointing the gun at his face. Seeing someone get shot is nothing like how it is in the movies as it turned out.

The yakuza started to squeeze the trigger and you felt your mouth open in a scream that was muffled almost immediately by someone's hand clamping down across the lower half of your face. Someone was dragging you away from the horrific scene. Distantly, you knew you were going into shock; this wasn't the first time after all. You remembered this feeling every time you thought about your mother.

 But you had to do something right?

 Right?

The sound of the gunshot going off was a soft thwack; nothing like the overused sound effect. There was no explosion of blood to dramatize what was happening, Shiki's body convulsed once, twice, then lay still as the bullets seemed to disappear into nothing. No sign that the gun had even been what had killed him at all. Not all the movies and internet access in the world could have prepared you for the real thing.

Shiki was dead. Your friend and partner was reduced to nothing more than cooling meat in the rain, his glazed eyes seeing nothing as his head flopped to the side so sickeningly limp. Towards you. Accusing you for just watching it happen.

  I WANT MY MOMMY. YOU'RE LYING.

 SHE WOULDN'T LEAVE ME ALONE.

 MOMMY. MOMMY. MOMMY. MOMMY.

  Ah, yes.

 It was like that time wasn't it?

So why was it that you were dragged away while someone you cared about slipped through your fingers again? It wasn't right to leave his body behind like that. You wondered if the yakuza would dispose of him so that he was never found or leave him for the construction workers in the morning.

You couldn't even cry as shock fully enveloped you like a familiar heavy blanket and you welcomed it not ready to cope with anything yet.

Time seemed to dilate around you (or maybe you blacked out - you weren't really sure) and you became vaguely aware of riding in a vehicle. Collapsed against the passenger side door as the world outside was reduced to glowing trails of light reflected in the raindrops running along the glass. The only thing you could see was Shiki's dead eyes staring back at you from the darkness.

You were going to be sick, you realized, and only just managed to get the door open enough for you to empty your stomach contents along the highway. It left you lightheaded with a foul taste in your mouth and you patted yourself down trying to find a lighter. There was a crumpled blunt in your pocket, the pocket of the jacket that Shiki had gotten you for your birthday last year, and you barely got it between your lips with your hands shaking so badly.

As soon as it was lit Mayuri reached across and crushed it into the ash tray wordlessly.

"What the fuck?" you sounded hoarse.

It was the first thing either of you had said since he'd practically kidnapped you an hour ago. Maybe two. Who was counting at this point.

"Keep your filthy habits out of my truck."

"My mistake I'll keep my smoking to a minimum in the murder truck. Just out of curiosity how many people have you killed?"

"Twenty-seven," Mayuri said without hesitation or remorse.

The anger you'd intended to vent went out of you like a deflated balloon at such a high number.

"Did you feel better after you.. after dealing with Pernida?"

 What were you asking all of a sudden?

This was not the way you'd intended for the conversation to go at all.

"It's only natural for someone like you to equate what I did to something as trite as revenge," he drawled condescendingly, "It was never just about Nemu; it was about sending a message. No matter how deep the rot of Reio's influence goes he isn't untouchable. He has had to live with the shadow hanging over him for nine years as a constant reminder of what if."

You were reminded of Mayuri's angry outburst while you were on his operating table just for speaking his daughter's name yet he spoke as if what he had done wasn't entirely personal. You couldn't tell if he was delusional or in denial that he had stooped to the yakuza's level for his own pleasure to take revenge.

"If it was about sending a message then why do you have a fucking arm in your apartment?"

The surgeon grinned at that sending a chill down your spine, "Every year on the anniversary of Nemu's death I send a piece of Pernida to Reio's office. That arm is all that remains."

You didn't know what the appropriate response was to that without offending him so you stayed silent deciding that the windshield wipers were more interesting than finding out more about Kurotsuchi Mayuri. You'd had enough for one night and needed to dissociate from reality for just a little while.

[martianbugsbunny]

Who Makes You See Color (A CaptainCroc Soulmates AU Fic): Chapter 13

Hello, darlings, you all are about to read one of my favorite chapters! This is the one where Killian finally gets his turn at being yeeten, so you Killian stans (folk of good taste, if I may say so) better gird yourselves. Bad news for any Rumple stans, though, because he’s also getting clobbered in this chapter. I’m just throwing bad life twists at my dudes left and right here. Tags: @wastingstarsss Have fun!

Gold woke up feeling…fine. His neck was sore from sleeping on the couch, but the low mood and general ache were both gone. He felt a bit foolish for calling off work, and wondered if he’s just been overreacting.

He decided not to call Roger in. After all, it wouldn’t really be fair to him to go back on a day off. Gold would rather work, though, and it might be nice to have the shop to himself again.

As he was walking to the shop, bundled into a thick overcoat and a dark blue scarf, he passed by Doctor Whale. “Mr. Gold, if I might have a moment?” he asked, his voice shot through with the fear Gold associated with those trying to get an extension on their rent. He did own Whale’s apartment complex, yes, but as a doctor, Whale had never been one to fall behind on payments.

Gold didn’t really like Whale, and was loath to give him a second thought, and yet he stopped walking and gestured for him to get on with it.

“Roger Davies was recently brought into your employ, was he not?”

“He was.”

“Late last night he went into cardiac arrest. We were able to resuscitate him, but his condition is…not good. You should start looking for a new employee.”

Whale moved on, not having a clue what he’d just done. Gold stood there, numb, for a moment, processing what the doctor had said. Roger was too young to be having heart trouble. It didn’t make sense.

Gold shook himself out of his daze and wasted no more time getting to the hospital. Fortunately for him, he was well-feared enough that nobody dared to keep him from going to Roger’s side.

His condition was poor enough that he was in a room all by himself, not recovering in a group like the patients who had a chance. It was quiet, except for the sounds of the various machines that were hitched into his veins and shoved down his throat. After living in Storybrooke for twenty-eight years, most of which he had spent unaware that these machines were anything new to him, the medical devices used in the land without magic still frightened Gold. They seemed so invasive and unnatural—but if they could keep Roger alive, then they must be good.

“Roger, you don’t get to die,” Gold said. “Do you hear me? You’re going to see the curse broken, and I’m going to tell you how much I love you when you can understand what it truly means.”

Roger seemed alright, other than the machines. Gold hated when internal things went wrong; injuries where he could see blood or bruising made sense, they looked real. Internal wounds were mysterious and always seemed so out of the blue.

Maybe...it wasn’t really. Gold hesitated, then put his fingers to his own wrist. It was difficult for him to judge it accurately, so he took a deep breath and placed his hand over his chest. There. Buried beneath his own heartbeat was a second. The curse must be weakening; he hadn’t felt a second pulse since being brought to Storybrooke. (He probably would’ve thought he was insane, if he had.)

Roger’s heart—Killian’s heart—did know him, after all. His pain had found its way through their link and been subsumed. Gold shook his head. Killian Jones would’ve been able to withstand it; he, too, was immortal, and he, too, had been through a lot in his life. But Roger Davies had no clue about any of that. He believed that he was a simple, mortal man, and a mortal could never bear the pain of an eternal being. His heart knew well enough to take the pain, but his head knew little enough to be brought low by it.

“Damnit, Killian,” he sighed, squeezing Roger’s shoulder.

“Gold.”

Emma Swan stood in the doorway. She had been more confident, lately, and Gold had to admit she was a good sheriff. That might be a problem for him. “Yes, Miss Swan?”

“One of the nurses called. She said you forced your way into this patient’s room?”

Gold laughed quietly, shaking his head. “That may be a bit of an over exaggeration,” he said. “This patient is my—my employee, Roger Davies. I merely wanted to check on him. We’ve…become friends, in the past few weeks.”

Swan seemed to be testing her superpower on him. Her eyes narrowed. “Then why did you call him ‘Killian’ a minute ago?” she asked.

He couldn’t admit to believing Henry’s theory, even if it was the truth and he knew it. He was suspicious enough in general. “I believe you’re mistaken, Miss Swan,” he said. He put every ounce of Rumplestiltskin’s lying ability into that one sentence, hoping it would be enough to fool her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a shop to open.”

After that day, the shop was a less interesting place to Gold. He couldn’t look at a lamp without thinking of how carefully Roger cleaned it, or even at the windows without remembering how handsome Roger looked with his sleeves rolled up to scrub them. He developed a raw spot on his finger from twisting the ring Roger had given back to him, which he found himself doing whenever he missed Roger.

It was often.

His trips to the hospital were regular, but not too frequent, to avoid drawing attention from Sheriff Swan. He could hardly believe the way time seemed to just move on without Roger. It didn’t seem right. Gold’s world stopped for him, so why shouldn’t everyone else’s?

There was never a single day, in all that continuing time, when Gold visited Roger and didn’t repeat those three words. Roger might die without knowing it, Gold could never be sure, but he could at least try to make him understand.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wednesday 6.. December 1837

8 ¾

12 50

fine soft morning F36 ½° at 9 50 and breakfast – before breakfast was over went out to Mr. Wheatley – 2nd visit to Mangnall – doing very well – pity to shoot the horse – would do for a coach-house – then with Mr. Ramsden foundry man, in the new bank, who came about the drying closet – a stone floor would not answer – should be iron, and have a fire (like a boiler fire) to itself from the room adjoining the laundry – R-‘s job would cost about £6 of which about 17/. (2/. for Wood and 15/. for labour) for the models maker then finished breakfast and A- came and sat by me – she poorly but would ride to Bouldhsaw – off about 12 and back about 5 having sent George over from B- to the Bowling iron to inquire about the iron hay racks for farm stable (late cow house) – to come on Saturday or Monday – note to this effect in answer to my message meant to have gone to H-x but had Mr. Sharpe from near Redhall with his dark brown cart horse (led by John Sunderland of the old Dumb mill beershop) price 30 guineas – heavy, gummy legged, tup-faced – must be of slow action – rather slow – but all agree a good horse – six off – S- should have asked £25 thought of setting the gray against the brown – S- asked what I valued the gray at – 27 guineas – as well or better worth that than the brown worth 30 guineas – S- seemed unwilling to leave the horse on trial – asked if he would take gray and Magnall in exchange he made no answer – I said I would think about his horse, and let him know if I thought more of him – Sunderland asked what I would take for Magnall - £10 – what was the lowest? said I might shoot him and get but a sovereign for skin and carcase but I would not sell him for that – Townend came – stood by so did we all – (Sharpe Sunderland John Booth and David B- the mason) – while T- unloosed the dressings – a terrible cut, but veins and sinews safe and the wound doing very well – T- said the horse was not worth more than a sovereign now – I said if I did not have the animal shot, T- would hear and might come again, if he liked in a few days, and we would try to bargain – I would not keep the horse – all this and a long talk with DB. (want Edward to sleep at Northgate till the Crosslands take possession) took me till after 4 – then with Robert Mann + 5 at the low fishpond – and a little with the masons – the passage into the hall re-flagged temporary 3 men at the saddle room doorstead turning to the east end of the building (towards the coach house court) and walling up rewalling up the corner of the building – much shaken before being taken down – in the stables and about till near 6 – a little while with A- she gave me ten pounds towards bill for Northgate sometime in the wine cellar getting in 4 sacks of saw dust brought from H-x the other day and left at the cellar-door – warmed myself by cellaring the stuff myself – dressed – dinner at 7 10 Mr. Jubb here (saw him) this morning just before A- went – came 2nd time (1st on Monday) to see Cookson – much better as to the pain in her side. A- read French I read (much aloud) the newspaper – tea about 9 – wrote all the above of today till about 10 ¾ pm finish day for the time of year – asked Mallinson junior at noon what he had thought about Mitham (some days ago offered him buildings except the barn and Ing and little croft and gardens at £30 per annum) answer his intended father and mother in law very agreeable to it – I conclude .:. no objection to rent – said I had not yet received AG.-‘s answer – 2 swans 1st seen on the meer this morning strayed from somewhere – cousin came gently about dinner time F32° at 11 ¾ pm

[echoes-of-the-land]

Chapter Two: The Fires of Discontent

The chill of autumn had settled over Somerset, painting the landscape in shades of gold and crimson. Thomas Lane stood at the edge of his property, arms crossed against the brisk wind, his heart heavy with the burdens of the world around him. The farm, once a source of pride, now felt like a weight pressing down on him. Each year, the harvest grew more meager, the demands from Lord Ashford more insistent.

“Eliza!” he called, his voice breaking the stillness as he watched his wife tending to their small vegetable patch. “Have you heard the latest from the village?”

Eliza wiped her brow and looked up, concern etched on her features. “What news could possibly be good these days?”

“Another tax increase. The lord expects us to pay for his new estate while we struggle to keep our heads above water!” Thomas’s frustration boiled over. “How can they expect us to survive? It’s as if we’re nothing more than cattle to them!”

Eliza set down her trowel, brushing dirt from her hands. “It’s unbearable, Thomas. Our children deserve better than this life of servitude and hardship. But what can we do?”

“I attended a gathering last week,” he replied, his tone shifting from anger to urgency. “Men from all over are talking about the colonies. They say there’s land there—land we can own, not rent!”

Eliza looked at him, her eyes widening with uncertainty. “And what of the journey? It’s fraught with danger. What if we lose everything?”

“What do we have to lose here?” Thomas shot back, passion igniting in his voice. “The king and his lords care nothing for us. They see us as nothing but sources of revenue. We could go to a place where we’re free to build our own lives!”

As the days passed, Thomas’s resolve only deepened. He spent evenings in the local tavern, a place buzzing with talk of rebellion and hope. He found himself sitting with men like John Harris and Philip Carteret, who shared his frustration.

“Have you heard about the latest decree?” John asked one evening, his voice low as they huddled around a flickering candle. “The king’s men are cracking down on dissent. They’re arresting anyone who dares to speak against the crown.”

“They’ve gone too far,” Philip chimed in, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “We can’t let them treat us like this. We deserve better.”

“What can we do?” Thomas asked, leaning forward, his heart racing. “We can’t fight them directly. But what if we left? What if we went to the New World?”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group. “We can be free men there,” John said, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “We could own land, make our own rules. Just imagine!”

The prospect ignited a fire within Thomas. “We must act quickly. If we stay here, we risk everything. Our lives could be in danger if we continue to speak out.”

After much discussion, the men decided to take their plans seriously. They began organizing gatherings in secret, away from the watchful eyes of the local gentry. They would find others willing to take the leap into the unknown, to leave the familiar behind for the chance at something better.

That evening, as Thomas returned home, he found Eliza bustling about the cottage, her hands full with their children. He pulled her aside, urgency in his voice. “I spoke with John and Philip. They’re ready to leave. Many families are considering it. We could join them.”

Eliza’s expression turned serious, her brow furrowing. “You’re serious about this? It’s a great risk. What if we fail?”

“Every day here feels like a greater risk,” Thomas replied, determination shining in his eyes. “The more we pay, the less we have. We can give our children a future—one filled with opportunity.”

The weeks turned into a blur of preparations. The Lanes and their neighbors met in the woods under the cover of darkness, plotting their escape and sharing their dreams of a new life. The conversations buzzed with excitement, but also with the weight of uncertainty.

“We must leave at first light,” Thomas urged one night, his voice steady. “If we stay any longer, we risk drawing attention to ourselves. We cannot let fear hold us back.”

“What if we find nothing but wilderness?” Eliza asked, her voice trembling slightly. “What if the stories we’ve heard are just that—tales spun to entice the foolish?”

“Or tales that inspire the brave!” Thomas countered, his passion undeniable. “We have been brave long enough here. We’ve endured too much. It’s time we take charge of our destiny.”

The night before their departure, the air was thick with emotion. The families gathered for one last meal together, sharing laughter and tears, stories and hopes. As they ate, the conversation turned to their plans for the New World.

“What will it be like?” one of the children asked, eyes wide with wonder.

“Better,” Thomas replied, looking around at the faces of those he had come to consider family. “A place where we can be free, where our children can run without fear.”

At dawn, the families set off, their hearts pounding with a mix of fear and excitement. They journeyed toward the coast, the salty air filling their lungs as they approached the dock. Thomas turned to Eliza, who stood clutching their youngest child, her face a mix of hope and trepidation.

“Are we sure about this?” she whispered, searching his eyes for reassurance.

“We are,” he replied, squeezing her hand tightly. “This is for our children. A future where they can thrive.”

As they boarded the ship, Thomas took one last look at the land they were leaving behind—the hills of Somerset that had held their ancestors but now felt like a prison. The sails unfurled, and the ship set forth, cutting through the waves toward an uncertain destiny.

The journey across the Atlantic was fraught with storms and sickness, yet the promise of a new life kept spirits high. Each day, as the ship rocked and creaked, Thomas shared stories of the freedom that awaited them, igniting hope in the hearts of the weary travelers.

One evening, as the sky darkened and stars began to twinkle above, Thomas gathered the families on deck. “Look at the stars,” he said, gesturing toward the vast sky. “They guide us toward our future. Each of us has a part to play in this new world. We are not just escaping—we are building something together.”

The families murmured in agreement, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. Eliza stood beside him, her hand resting on their youngest child’s shoulder. “We have come so far,” she said softly. “We must remain united, for our children’s sake.”

Days turned into weeks, and as the ship navigated the treacherous waters, the travelers formed bonds that would last a lifetime. They shared their fears, dreams, and laughter, creating a tapestry of camaraderie that would help them weather any storm.

When they finally arrived on the shores of New Jersey, Thomas stood at the bow of the ship, his heart racing with anticipation. “There it is! Land!” he shouted, excitement bubbling within him.

As they disembarked, the lush landscape amazed them, the air filled with the scent of earth and possibility. But Thomas’s heart was drawn to Freehold—a place that seemed to call to him, a vision of what they could create together.

One evening, as they set up camp near the edge of the woods, Thomas gathered the families, looking into their hopeful faces. “This is our chance,” he said, voice steady with conviction. “We’ve escaped the grip of the crown, and now we can build something truly ours. Together, we will forge a community grounded in respect and unity.”

The following morning, the settlers made their way toward Freehold, guided by the rising sun. The land was wild and untamed, but it sang to Thomas’s heart. As they walked, he turned to the others. “We can turn this land into something beautiful. Imagine fields of grain, homes filled with laughter, and a community that thrives.”

Eliza looked around, her apprehension melting into hope. “And a place where our children can run free, without fear of the crown’s decree.”

As the days rolled on, the Lanes quickly became involved in the fledgling community, their efforts focused on establishing a homestead and laying down roots. Thomas, with his innate leadership qualities, began forging relationships with influential figures like Philip Carteret and John Wiggins.

At a meeting in a clearing near the future site of the church, Thomas spoke passionately. “We must establish laws that reflect our values—justice, equality, and respect for one another. Our strength lies in our unity.”

Carteret nodded, his eyes bright with approval. “You speak wisely, Thomas. We can create a place where families thrive, free from oppression.”

As they worked to build their new lives, Eliza utilized her extensive knowledge of herbs and healing. One afternoon, as she tended to a sprained ankle for a neighbor, she glanced up to find Thomas watching her, pride swelling in his chest.

“You’ve a gift, Eliza,” he said, admiration evident in his voice. “You bring comfort to those in pain.”

“It’s our duty,” she replied, smiling as she wrapped the ankle. “We are building a community together. We must support one another.”

Their home, a modest yet welcoming farmhouse, soon became a gathering place. Laughter filled the air as families came together, sharing meals and stories. One evening, as they celebrated the harvest, John Harris raised his cup.

“To our future!” he exclaimed. “To the Lanes.

#TheLandBefore#LenniLenape#HarvestFestival#AncientWisdom#NatureAndTradition#KimoAndNia#CommunityAndConnection#SpiritsOfTheAncestors#WhispersOfChange#LoveAndLegacy#CrossroadsOfHistory#HarmonyWithNature#CulturalHeritage#StrengthInUnity#StoriesOfThePast

[goldammerchen]

i wanna keep making low effort vague lowering rent shots right now, but gotta do something else than standing in the dark while using the laptop

[travelluxegroup]

Capturing the beauty of the Northern Lights

Introduction: The Beauty of the Northern Lights Witnessing the ethereal beauty of the Northern Lights, also known as the Aurora Borealis, is a bucket-list experience for many. These enchanting natural light shows caused by solar particles entering the Earth's atmosphere have captivated mankind throughout history. This phenomenon can be admired in the polar regions, where trips can be easily booked through sites like www.expedia.com or www.bookings.com. While the visual memory lasts a lifetime, capturing these magical moments on camera brings great joy to photographers and viewers alike. In this blog post, we will learn the art of capturing the Northern Lights through expert tips and guidance. From camera settings to choosing the perfect location, our in-depth guide will help you create stunning photographs of the Northern Lights while enjoying the luxury travel amenities available through www.amazon.com. Preparation: Gear and Equipment Needed for Northern Lights Photography If you want to capture stunning images of the Aurora Borealis, it's essential to be well-prepared with the right gear and equipment. Here's a list of must-haves for Northern Lights photography: 1. Camera In order to capture the beauty of the northern lights, you need a camera with manual settings, such as a DSLR or mirrorless camera. This allows you to control the shutter speed, aperture, and ISO, which are critical in low-light conditions. Check out options on Amazon. 2. Wide-angle Lens A wide-angle lens is essential for capturing the vastness and beauty of the night sky. Look for a lens with a focal length between 10-24mm and a fast aperture (f/2.8 or lower). 3. Tripod A sturdy tripod is a must for northern lights photography, as you'll use long exposure times. Invest in a good quality, lightweight tripod for stability and ease of transport. Once you've gathered your gear, consider booking a guided northern lights photography tour through websites like bookings.com or expedia.com to learn tips and tricks from expert photographers while exploring stunning luxury destinations. Location: Finding the Best Spots to Capture the Northern Lights When it comes to chasing the Northern Lights, location is key. To maximize your chances of witnessing this natural phenomenon, we've compiled a list of expert recommendations for the perfect picturesque spots. Norway's Lofoten Islands With awe-inspiring fjords and towering mountains, Norway's Lofoten Islands provide a breathtaking backdrop for the dancing lights. Rent a cozy cabin and let the magical skies unfold above you. Iceland's Vatnajokull National Park Explore Iceland's striking landscapes at Vatnajokull National Park, and position yourself in Jokulsarlon, a glacial lagoon filled with icebergs where the aurora can reflect off the water's surface, creating mesmerizing effects. Sweden's Abisko National Park Sweden's Abisko National Park is famous for its crystal-clear skies, giving you an unobstructed view of the aurora. Book a stay at the nearby Icehotel and indulge in a luxury Arctic experience. A good camera and the right location are all you need to begin capturing the Northern Lights. Allow yourself to be immersed in the beauty of these stunning spots, and create memories that will last a lifetime. Timing: When to Photograph the Northern Lights While the Northern Lights can be seen from late September to early April, their appearance can be unpredictable. To increase your chances of capturing the perfect shot, consider these factors: Season According to expert photographers, the best time to see the Northern Lights is during the winter months, particularly between December and February. This is when the nights are longest, giving you more opportunities to catch a glimpse of the auroras. Weather Clear, dark skies are essential for Aurora photography. Keep an eye on the weather forecast and choose a location with minimal light pollution. Websites like Expedia can help you find the perfect spot for your Northern Lights adventure. Equipment Having a high-quality camera and tripod is critical. If you're looking to invest in photography gear, check out options on Amazon. Additionally, find the perfect accommodation to match your photography needs by browsing properties on Booking.com. Technique: Tips and Tricks for Capturing the Perfect Shot Mastering the art of photographing the Northern Lights requires attention to detail, creativity, and an adventurous spirit. The following tips and tricks will help you capture stunning images of this natural phenomenon. 1. Invest in the Right Equipment Having the right camera gear is essential for capturing high-quality images of the Northern Lights. A DSLR or mirrorless camera with manual controls is recommended. Additionally, a wide-angle lens, tripod, and wireless remote will help you achieve sharp, well-framed shots. 2. Plan Your Trip Strategically Timing is crucial when capturing the Northern Lights. Book your trip during the darkest months of the year (September to April) and choose a destination known for clear skies and minimal light pollution. Check the aurora forecast regularly during your stay to increase your chances of witnessing this magical display. 3. Embrace Manual Settings Setting your camera to manual mode will allow you to adjust the aperture, ISO, and shutter speed for optimal results. Experiment with different settings to find the perfect balance between light sensitivity, exposure time, and image sharpness. 4. Utilize Foreground Elements Including interesting elements in the foreground of your images will add depth and context to your shots. Position your camera to capture landscapes, natural features, or local architecture beneath the dancing lights. 5. Practice Patience and Perseverance Capturing the perfect shot of the Northern Lights can be challenging, but with patience and persistence, you can create stunning images that showcase the beauty of this celestial spectacle. Embrace the adventure and embark on a luxury travel experience you'll never forget. Luxury Travel: Experience the Northern Lights in Style Why not elevate your Northern Lights adventure by indulging in some luxury experiences? Stay in a lavish hotel with panoramic views or enjoy a private guided tour catered to your photography skills. Exquisite Accommodation Choose from a selection of exclusive hotels and lodges located in prime Northern Lights viewing spots. Revel in opulent interiors, fine dining and amenities such as private hot tubs, glass-roofed igloos, and sumptuous beds. Private Guided Tours Enhance your photography skills with the help of a professional guide during a personalized Northern Lights tour. Tailored to your skill level and incorporating the latest tips and tricks, capture the ethereal beauty of the Aurora Borealis like never before. Essential Gear Don't forget to invest in top-quality photography equipment. Purchase high-end cameras, tripods and other accessories on Amazon to elevate your Northern Lights photos to the next level. Curated Luxury Packages Check out Expedia for a variety of luxury Northern Lights packages designed for avid photographers. Select from a range of unforgettable experiences to make your Aurora Borealis adventure one to remember. Conclusion: Capturing the Magic of the Northern Lights Armed with the expert advice and techniques presented in this blog, avid photographers and Northern Lights enthusiasts are now ready to embark on their thrilling adventure. Whether it is capturing the lights while sailing through the Arctic Circle or staying in the comfort of a luxury accommodation, witnessing the Northern Lights is nothing less than magical. As the final checklist, investing in a quality camera and associated gear is essential for breathtaking results. Don't forget to pick a picturesque destination and immerse yourself in the experience of photographing the celestial masterpiece. With patience, perseverance, and practiced skill, you'll be well on your way to capturing the enchanting essence of the Northern Lights. Read the full article